Forget Me Not
by Spikes Bint
Summary: Erik visits the church on Christine's Wedding day to bid madame Giry goodbye and extract a promise from her before he leaves France for America. Thirteen years later, Christine is on the brink of widowhood and in need of her Angel even more than she knows
1. Prologue

u Forget me not /u 

u Prologue

Christine's Wedding Day. 

Paris 1870  


Christine looked at her reflection in the mirror, while Meg fussed with her hair. Her friend finally placed the De Chagny diamond tiara on her head and attached the veil. The wisps of white lace netting gave her an ethereal look. For some reason her mind wandered back to the mannequin in Erik's lair and as she met her eyes in the mirror, she noted the high spots of colour that stained her cheeks. She cursed her thoughts as a familiar ache settled in her breast, almost constricting her breathing. The church bells were already ringing out in celebration of her marriage to Raoul De Chagny and they had not even walked up the aisle yet.

It had only been two weeks since the burning of the Opera house and the events of that night were still fresh in her mind. The hurt and suffering in Erik's eyes would stay with her for a long time, maybe even the rest of her life. She hardly recognised the girl that looked back at her in the mirror and in some ways; she looked almost as unreal as the mannequin version of herself, like a painted doll.

Her head shot up as Madame Giry entered the room, their eyes met in the looking glass.

"It is time Christine," she smiled at her. Christine nodded and rose from the chair. "You look beautiful, your father would have been proud,"

Christine felt the tears spring to her eyes at the mention of him. She felt his absence more strongly today than any other day in her life. Christine walked over to Madame Giry and wrapped her arms around her.

"Thank you for being a mother to me,"

Madame Giry felt her own eyes moisten as she pulled back to look at Christine, placing a kiss on her cheek. She frowned at the coldness she felt.

"Are you well child?" she asked in concern.

Christine shivered although the room was not cold. "It is nothing, just a little nerves on my part,"

Madame Giry smiled at her. "It is natural. Marriage is a big step for anyone…and especially for one as young as you."

Christine smiled back at Madame Giry. They were interrupted by someone knocking at the door. Meg crossed the room to open it. A young boy stood there, uncertainly shifting from foot to foot. He held a bridal bouquet in his hands.

"Ah, your flowers have arrived," said Meg, taking them from the boy and closing the door. She handed the bouquet to Christine.

Christine took the snow-white roses from her friend and frowned at them, for they were not the plain white roses she had requested. Among them nestled a generous smattering of little blue wild flowers. "What are these?" asked Christine, confused.

Madame Giry cleared her throat. "They are forget-me-nots. They symbolise true love and memories,"

Christine paled for a moment, but she shook off her fanciful thoughts. Deciding it was nothing more than a mistake at the hands of the florist and she turned her mind to Raoul as the organ in the church began to play the wedding march.

"I believe that is my cue," she replied distantly as she left the room to make her solitary journey up the aisle to her waiting husband to be.

Madame Giry watched her walk away, with Meg as her attendant. She sighed heavily as she made to leave the room also. She let out a small cry as her way was blocked by a black caped figure. Her hand flew to her mouth as she looked up at Erik. His stormy eyes glittered with suppressed emotion as he looked back at her. She fought for words, but none would come.

"Madame Giry, a moment of your time please," He walked forward and closed the door behind them.

She was more relieved to see him, than she would admit to. It had had been her secret fear that he had died, possibly trapped by the spreading fire. All Meg had been able to find of him had been his mask and neither Christine nor Raoul had divulged the secrets of what had occurred that night, far below the opera house.

Mme Giry finally found her voice at she looked at him. "You have not come to cause trouble for Christine?"

"No, that is not my intention. I know when I am defeated. I am leaving here, not just this place, but France altogether. I am a wanted man,"

"Where will you go?" she asked.

"I am to sail for America in three days. I have come to say goodbye,"

"Christine must not see you. It will only cause her distress,"

Erik nodded. "Is she happy?" he asked.

"After a fashion…yes she is,"

Erik reached into his waistcoat and held out his hand. Madame Giry looked down at a diamond ring that rested in his palm. "I need one last favour if you please. Take this ring and keep it safe. Christine gave it to me. If she is ever in danger or need, send it to me and I will come for her,"

Madame Giry took the ring from him

He turned to leave, but she put a hand on his arm. "What will you do in America, Erik?"

"Try to live without her," he replied gravely.

He left the room with such haste, that for a moment she wondered if he had been a figment of her imagination. She looked at the ring that she held in her hand just to remind herself that he was not.

* * *

De Chagny Estate 

1883 - Thirteen years later

Christine closed the door to her bedroom, she wiped at her tired eyes. She turned and was startled to see the doctor standing there. She gave him a weak smile.

"He is resting doctor. He had a bad night, thank you for coming so swiftly,"

"It is the least I can do Madame. I will go attend him and try to make him comfortable,"

She nodded at him before sitting down on one of the chairs that lined the hallway. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, her dress stained with blood from her husband's incessant coughing. It would not be long now; Raoul was in the advanced stages of consumption. Christine had spent the last few months nursing her husband as she had watched him grow weaker by the day. Death would be a release for him, but for her it would be a prison and birth into a world without him.

Their marriage had been a happy one. The only cloud to mar it had been their continued childlessness. She would not even have his child to warm her days of widowhood. As the years had passed and there had still been no heir, he had not blamed her for the lack thereof. That had been left to the other members of his family. It had only served to build their disgust of her, and that Raoul had married so far beneath his station.

She fixed her gaze on a far distant point as her mind wandered. A face she had not laid eyes on for over thirteen years came to mind and she felt the same tingle she had felt on her wedding day. The doctor emerged from the room moments later to look at her. She could tell by the solemn way in which he regarded her, that it was not good tidings.

"Tell me what news doctor and be honest with me," Christine told him.

"He does not have long, if he lives out this night I would be very surprised. Is there anyone that can be with you at this difficult time?"

Christine looked down at the richly carpeted floor. Only one name came to mind. i _Madame Giry_. /i She still resided in Paris with Meg and could be here within a couple of hours.

"I have someone,"

"Good, you should not be alone. I have given him morphine for the pain. He is asleep now,"

Christine nodded as she rose from her seat and led him down the hall to the main entrance.

"Thank you for everything doctor,"

"You are not looking so well yourself, try to get some rest Madame,"

After seeing, the doctor out she rang the bell and gave instructions to one of the servants to send word to Madame Giry. Christine went back to the sick room. As she entered, her nostrils were assailed by the strong smell of carbolic acid. Raoul rested against the white sheets, his complexion almost of the same hue. Christine noted a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and she reached for a scrap of linen and wiped it away before setting down in the chair next to his bed. She lay back in the chair, intending to close her eyes for just a moment.

TBC


	2. The Widow De Chagny

Chapter 1

The Widow De Chagny

Madame Giry rose from her bed at the dorms of the Opera Populaire. Monsieur's Firmin and Andre had not been poverty stricken by the destruction of the opera house, as they had at first feared. The Vicomte De Chagny had been most generous in contributing to the rebuilding of it. The living conditions here had barely improved since the restoration of the opera house almost thirteen years ago, but she was the mistress as before. However, she now had the added circumstance of Meg being one of their most admired actresses. That, and the events that had led to the ruin of the building had given Mme Giry an almost legendary status among her young charges, which she trained. She was well versed in dealing with the curious girls that came here each year, always wanting to hear the tales of the Opera Ghost and Christine Daae.

Madame Giry had never been one to encourage gossip where Erik was concerned, but she often wondered how he had fared in America. Infrequent letters arrived for her, punctuating the sometimes silence of several years, before she received the next. It had been almost three years since she had heard from him. Although she had his direction from his last letter, safely locked away, not a day went by that she did not think of him.

She walked over to her wardrobe to begin dressing when an urgent knock sounded on her door. She wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her slim frame and went to answer it.

One of the younger girls stood there, her eyes as round as saucers, she held a note in her hand.

"This just arrived for you Madame. It was delivered by a man; he is waiting in the foyer for you and says he will not leave until he has spoken to you,"

Mme Giry took the note from the girl and looked at it. She broke the seal and opened the letter. It had been hastily scrawled, but she recognised Christine's writing.

**Madame Giry,**

**Please come, Raoul is dying and I need you. I should have told you of his illness sooner, but I did not want to be a burden to anyone. Please forgive me.**

**Christine**

Madame Giry covered her mouth as she swayed on her feet, reeling from the shock.

"Madame?" asked the girl uncertainly.

"Run and tell the man that I will be with him presently and go fetch Collette. She will have to take over my duties while I am gone," The girl was about to leave when Mme Giry caught her arm. "Wait,"

Mme quickly went over to her bureaux and wrote a note for the managers. "Please do not forgot to give this to Monsieur's Andre and Firmin, it explains my absence and with the Vicomte still as their patron they will brook no argument,"

The girl took the note and left. Madame Giry dressed at quickly as the awkward fashions of the day allowed. There was no time to fix her hair as she stuffed a travelling bag full of all that she might need for her time away. She was about to lock up her room when she remembered rather belatedly her promise to Erik. Madame Giry went over to her favourite chair and felt underneath it for a little tear she had purposely made in the upholstery. She retrieved the ring from inside and unwrapped it from the cloth in which it was covered. It shone just as brightly as the day she had deposited it there many years ago.

Closing the door behind her, she made her way to the foyer where a well-dressed servant waited for her.

"Madame Giry?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good, there is no time to lose. I am Philippe Abney, valet to the Vicomte. I am here with a carriage to escort you back to the estate,"

Madame Giry smiled to herself. Christine had been very confident in her response to the call for help. However, Christine also knew that she looked on her as a daughter and would be there for her in an instant in the same way she would for Meg if she needed her.

"I have to fetch my daughter and I have an urgent matter of business to attend, but they will take no more than a few moments. The Vicomtess would want her friend to be with her,"

"Very well. It was indeed the Vicomtess's hope that your daughter would accompany you," he replied. She followed him out of the main doors and into the busy streets.

The black carriage that bore the De Chagny crest waited at the foot of the steps. The man opened the door and helped Mme Giry inside. She gave the direction to the coach driver and they set off.

* * *

Meg lived in a smart little apartment, only a few streets from the opera house. She felt proud that it was her own and not a present from one of the many admirers, that had offered to set up home for her in the return that she would be their mistress.

At the age of thirty-one, two years older than Christine, she had not led a celibate existence and had had several lovers over the years. She was just very discreet in her affaires, although she had been fond of most of them; none had yet managed to touch her heart. In this she envied Christine, she was still waiting to meet a man who could make her breathless with a single look. Her gaze wandered to the white mask that she had displayed on her cabinet. Maybe it was girlish of her to hang on to those dreams, but until she found that person, she would keep company with her present paramours.

She turned over in the bed and found that she could not. Meg opened her eyes and looked into the bright blue ones of Luc Firmin and as usual felt the tug of regret that she had chosen a lover so close to the opera house. Luc was the eldest son of monsieur Firmin and at the age of twenty-five, he was six years her junior, but he had been most persistent. He had showered her with gifts and flowers, and was quite charming when compared to the others, which pursued her.

She felt more than a passing affection for him if she were honest with herself. Meg bent her head to kiss his lips. She would have pulled away if he had not held on to her and deepened the kiss. She sighed inwardly, she did not have to be at rehearsals for some time yet, she thought as she gave herself up to his caresses.

"I love you Meg," he whispered against her throat.

"I know," she replied softly, sucking in her breath as his hand crept inside her nightgown to stroke her breast.

He rolled her over onto her back and settled himself between her legs. Both their eyes widened in surprise at the loud hammering of her front door.

"Ignore it," he urged as he continued touching her body.

"I cannot, it might be important," she breathed.

Luc made a moue of annoyance before rolling off her. Meg rose from the bed and belted a dressing gown around her waist. She walked over to the window.

"Oh, it is Maman. She must not find you here,"

Luc got up from the bed. "Where do you suggest I hide? In the wardrobe?" he asked sardonically.

Meg pulled a face and threw his pants at him before hurrying downstairs to meet her mother. The smile on her face faded as she met the grim expression of her mama's.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Christine…Raoul, he is dying. She needs us,"

Meg gasped. "I'll get my things,"

She ran back up the stairs and hastily packed a suitcase. Luc sat on one of the chairs regarding her. He took a long drag on a cheroot and exhaled the smoke. She sat down at the mirror and quickly, but expertly arranged her long blonde hair.

"Where's the fire?" he asked at her agitated manner.

"Luc I do not have time to explain but I have to leave Paris for a few days. My friend Christine needs me. Her husband is dying. I will know more when I get there,"

"The Vicomte?"

"Yes,"

"Oh dear father must be having forty fits at this very moment," He chuckled.

Meg glowered at him. "Show some compassion. Christine is like a sister to me,"

She closed her suitcase with a snap. She walked over to him and kissed him briefly on the lips. He took ahold of her hand.

"I'll miss you Meg,"

"I will miss you too," she replied, realising it was in fact true. "Let yourself out, but not before the carriage is out of sight,"

He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and continued to dress.

"Do not worry little Meg, I will keep our secret," he smiled wryly.

* * *

Mme Giry was already in the carriage and waiting for her daughter, as soon as she was inside they set off once more.

"Why did Christine not tell us that Raoul was sick sooner?" asked Meg, confused.

Mme Giry sighed. "I do not even know what his condition is. Maybe in time he may recover,"

The carriage came to a stop outside an alien building. Meg watched with interest as her mother took a small package from her reticule.

"What is that?" asked Meg

"A personal matter,"

Meg bristled with resentment. Five minutes alone with her mother and she already felt like a child again and not the independent woman that she was. _Mother had kept secrets all her life, why would now be any different_ she mused. She watched as her mother disappeared into the office. For the first time she noted the presence of the young man that sat across from her.

She smiled at him and then fixed her gaze on the window, feeling awkward in the heavy silence of being left alone with a stranger. She breathed an inward sigh of relief when her mother returned.

Mme Giry glanced at her daughter; she could tell by the stubborn set of her lower lip that she was annoyed with her.

"If you insist on knowing child, I have just sent for the assistance of an old friend. Christine may need all the help she can get in the days to come,"

"Which tells me everything and nothing mama…as usual," she replied in resignation.

* * *

_She was having such a wonderful dream; she was back at the Opera Populaire and was in the middle of an aria. Suddenly the music stopped and the adoring audience melted away until there was only one left sitting there. She could not quite make him out as he was partially hidden by the shadows. He had begun to applaud although her song was not finished._ Someone was shaking her…Christine opened her eyes and looked into the blue ones of Madame Giry.

"Christine," she said gently.

Christine slowly became aware of her surroundings. "Madame Giry," she breathed. The welcome sight of her surrogate mother caused tears spring to her eyes. She had spent the last few weeks trying to be so strong for her husband that all the pent up emotion burst like a dam and spilled down her cheeks.

Mme Giry wrapped her arms around her, noting the thinness of her frame. "What ails Raoul?" she asked gently as she stroked her hair.

Christine lifted her tearstained face to look at her. "H-he has consumption,"

Meg chose to enter the room at that moment after making sure their belongings had been safely deposited as well as giving her mother some time alone with Christine. She had heard the last sentence as she had walked in. She rushed over to Christine's side and squeezed her hand.

Christine looked at her friend in surprise, it had been at least three years since she had last seen her and she was surprised in the changes in her. From the rustle of her rich silk dress to her perfectly styled hair, Meg looked every inch the lady.

"Look at you," said Christine, glad of the distraction. She felt painfully aware of her own disorder as she smoothed down her riotous curls that had long escaped their pins. "You look wonderful…all you are missing is the little doggy,"

Meg smiled through her tears, realising her friend needed the release of a little humour.

"How is Raoul?" she asked.

"Come and see for yourselves. I am sure he would like to see some fresh faces after seeing only mine these past few weeks.

Christine took both women by the hand and led them to Raoul's bedroom. She opened the doors as silently as possible so not to wake him, but was surprised to find he was already so. He greeted her with a weak smile as he struggled to sit up in bed.

"Madame Giry, and little Meg," he greeted them warmly, only to be taken over by a fit of coughing.

Christine rushed to his side and covered his mouth, gently rubbing his back until it subsided. She quickly hid the bloodstained cloth from his view. He did not need further reminding of his fading mortality.

"How well you both look, as you can see I am not doing so well," he sighed wryly.

Madame Giry had managed to hide her shock at the sight of the ailing Vicomte, but it had been a struggle. He had always seemed so young, vibrant, and full of energy. To see him so reduced made her want to weep.

"It is good to see you again Vicomte," she replied.

He nodded at her. "You have come for the grand finale?"

Christine made a sound of protest, but he held up his hand. "Please, I know I am not long for this world. I can feel it within me and see it in your faces. It is good that Christine sent for you. I would not want her to be alone,"

Raoul turned to look at his wife tenderly. He saw the fresh tears on her cheeks and held out a hand to her. "Come, I will not have you weep for this sorry pile of bones my love,"

Christine went to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered brokenly.

"I wish I did not have to leave you. It is just my time Christine. Most of life is uncertain, but on one thing we can depend and that is that death comes to us all. Loving you was the most worthwhile action of my whole existence, please tell me that I did it well,"

Christine looked down at him, wiping away the damp tendrils of hair that clung to his forehead.

"You were the best husband a woman could wish for, please do not leave me,"

"I fear I-must…Christine," he sucked in a loud rasping breath and as it left his lungs he went limp in her arms.

"Raoul?" she questioned. She shook him a little, he flopped about in her arms like a rag doll. "Raoul!" she screamed, as she climbed on the bed with him and took him in her arms.

Madame Giry touched Christine's shoulder, but she flinched away from her touch. "Leave us!"

Mme Giry drew back, she remembered all too well the day that Meg's father had been taken from them. It was better to leave Christine alone for a little while until the first pangs of shock had faded. She took Meg's hand and led her from the room.

"I will return in a while Christine," said Mme Giry quietly as she closed the doors and left Christine alone to her grief.

* * *

New York- Six Days Later

Life for Erik had been better than he had expected in his new adopted country. He had taken all the money with him that he had accrued during his reign as the opera ghost and had invested it wisely. America was indeed a land of opportunity, but it helped if you had money from the onset.

The country was so richly populated with people from all lifestyles, that he had barely been given a second glance on the boat that had brought him here. He had kept to his cabin for most of the Atlantic crossing. On arrival, he had walked into the first bank, he could find, aware that the city was rife with thieves and pickpockets and there he had deposited a considerable sum. Finding accommodation after that had been easy, and as his wealth grew so did the size of his living quarters.

Nighttime was still his preferred means of getting about the city. Having lived in darkness for so long, it was his day to him. He stood outside the newly constructed metropolitan Opera house as it rested on 39th and 40th. It had been three years in the making, from start to finish. Erik had invested large sums of his personal wealth into it along with several other New York millionaires. At last here was an opera house he truly could call his own…_an eighth of it at least_ he thought wryly.

He had been appointed general manager of the house too and after the land on which it was to be built, he had made sure, by greasing a few palms that the architect of his choice would win the competition to design it. Little did the fools know, that it was his own design that had met with their approval. Once it had been accepted he had made several changes to it for his own benefit.

He entered the building, tipping a nod at the night watchman as he made his way to his office. He closed the door and lit a gas lamp to illuminate the room. He sat back in his upholstered leather chair noticing for the first time the small package that rested on his desk. He reached over to open it. He tore the wrapping from it to find a note inside.

He turned up the lamp to read it.

**Erik, Christine needs you. **

**Mme Giry**

Erik opened the box to see the diamond ring, which he had given all hope of ever seeing again. He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that Christine was happy in her life with the Vicomte and he in some small way must get on with the business of living his own. He glanced at one of the faded sketches he had made of her all those long years ago. It hung on the wall opposite his desk purposely, so it was the first thing he would see as he sat down to work.

He cursed Mme Giry for the economy of the words that her note held. However, the fact that Christine needed help was enough for him. The opera house could go to hell for the time being. He took a pen from the holder and began to write down instructions for his personal assistant to find in the morning. After doing so, he shrugged on his black cape and set off for home to plan his return to France.

TBC


	3. Strange Homecoming

Strange Homecoming

Chapter 2

As Erik gripped the handrail and stared out into the crisp night air of the New York spring. He watched the skyline disappear as the boat began its voyage back to France. He had not felt such tumultuous feelings since the night Christine had kissed him and he had released her to the Vicomte. Thirteen years was a long time. _Maybe the past was better left in the past_. However, it was too late for regrets now as the ship was bound for home and for the next six days, he had nothing to do, but think and remember…

_**The Phantom's Lair, the night of Don Juan.**_

_The music box played soothing his heartache…she was gone, his fate had indeed been sealed tonight, just as he had predicted. He smiled in his pain and took in a ragged breath of air. Erik looked up in surprise to see her there, watching him, her brown eyes full of pity as she looked down at him. He did not want her pity, what he wanted he could never have…her love._

_Christine walked over to him. He watched as she slid the ring from her finger and placed it in his hand. It was the final goodbye and more painful than any words of parting that she could have uttered._

"_Christine I love you," he whispered. _

_She continued to look at him with her soulful eyes, a thousand emotions reflected in them. As he watched her leave, he let a tear slide down his face…the pain had been almost past bearing._

Erik was brought sharply back to the present by the rough blare of the ship's horn. It still hurt even now, but what had once felt like a knife to the heart had dulled with the passing of time, to an uncomfortable ache in his chest. Passengers were coming out for moonlight walks along the promenade. It was his cue to return to his cabin. Those that he had worked with over the years had become accustomed to the outlandish sight of him in his mask. Strangers were often more curious and rude in their pointed stares.

His journey back across the Atlantic would be more opulent than his flight from France. On that journey, he had been unable to risk a conventional means of escape, but had instead bought himself passage to America on a merchant vessel. Erik knew if he had really wanted he could have remained in Paris, but it had been better this way. A clean break and distance between himself and Christine.

_What exactly was he coming home to?_ For some reason that chilled him. _Was she sick or dying or had that peacock squandered the family fortune at the tables and she needed him for monetary assistance? Would she even need him at all?_

Erik felt the familiar tug of desire for Christine as his treacherous body hardened at the thought of her. The pain of losing her may have faded, but his need for her had not. His wealth had bought him company, but it had not bought him love. The empty liaisons he had had in the early days with women who were able to look past his deformity for a few dollars, had been a mockery of his love for Christine and only brought him more pain. Therefore, he had withdrawn that part of his nature preferring the solitude of his former years.

With the construction of the opera house, he had felt a fire and pride that he had not experienced since the first time he had heard Christine sing on stage to the wild cries of appreciation from the audience. The only thing that grated his nerves was the ugliness of the newly constructed opera house, but the business partners had been more interested in penny pinching than beauty. It had been the only way to be sure his design would be accepted.

Erik went back to his cabin, one of the best the ship had to offer. He gladly closed the door on the outside world. He walked over to his leather bound monogrammed luggage, taking out his violin from its case he began to play. The passengers that passed his door heard the lonely strains of music coming from his room, some wept at its magnificence and marvelled at the talent of the maker.

* * *

Six Days Later

Christine looked down at the pile of earth that was scattered with so many lilies and fleur-de-lis. Tears would not come; she had cried an ocean and could not find it in herself to shed anymore. She was aware of the presence of Madame Giry and Meg as they waited for her. The other mourners had long since left. Christine gave a quick glance at her father's tomb, just a few feet away from where her husband lie.

The funeral had been postponed by almost a week as she had waited for his family to gather, most of them were strangers and of whom she was sure had cared nothing for Raoul except what he might have left them in his will. The reading of the will was another ordeal she had yet to get through. His relations would be gathered in his study like so many carrion waiting to feast over the bones of the estate.

It was her home and she would turn them all out as soon as it was over. She hated them all, with their faux tears and haughty stares as they summed up the ex-showgirl. Their glances were all too easily read, and one or two of them had actually voiced the opinion that she had tricked the Vicomte in to marrying her in the first place with her wiles. As far as they were concerned, she may as well still have the taint of greasepaint on her.

Christine felt the gentle touch of Mme Giry's hand on her arm. She turned and smiled an empty smile at them as they led her to the waiting carriage.

The journey from the cemetery to the house was a short one and over all too soon. Raoul's family had gathered in her husband's study. She could tell by the accusatory glances that were passed her way that they had all been waiting for her. _She was 29, too young to be a widow_, she silently screamed inside. She took a seat in the front row and looked at the executor, Raoul's closest friend in this world, Fabien Dubois. She took a few deep breaths and steeled herself as he began to read. Meg took a place by her side and held her hand. Christine was glad of the support and felt the better for it.

Most of what Raoul had to say was to do with certain pensions for this or that, member of his household. Most if it held little interest for her until there was mention of her name.

"**The house, being entailed to the oldest and closest male heir is to be retained by my wife and our children. In the event of us having no children it is to revert to the ownership of my eldest cousin Rene De Chagny, the next and natural heir in line to the De Chagny fortunes and estate,"**

Christine looked up at the sympathy she read in Fabien's face as he delivered the last words. She watched as he folded up the last will and testament of her husband and rested his head on his hands.

"And that's it?" screeched an elderly relative behind her.

Another more sardonic voice chimed in. "Well its hardly surprising Heloise. You were hardly the attentive aunt in life, so why would he remember you in death? At least _she_ didn't get anything either,"

Christine was confused, that will had to be years old. Not only was she to be husbandless, but she was to lose the place that she had called her home for the last thirteen years.

She looked at Fabien. "Is there nothing else?" she asked.

He shook his head sadly. "The will was made some time ago, but it will stand up in court Christine,"

"T-thank you," she replied quietly and left the room wanting to be alone.

* * *

She made her way to the bedroom that had been hers and Raoul's since the day of their marriage. She closed the door, muting out the sounds of his family as she walked over to the bed and sank down on it. She could still smell the spicy tang of his cologne in the room as she rested against the feather pillow and closed her eyes. The coolness it afforded went some way in diffusing the heat of her cheeks. She felt so old and tired…consciousness started to fade as she drifted off to sleep.

_Christine was on her bed. The candlelight was low, giving the room a soft glow. She smiled as she saw a dark form in the shadows, advancing on her as she gave herself up to the wild passion that was coursing through her. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body. For some reason she could not see his face, it was partially obscured by the shadows, but she felt no fear. She only felt loved and cherished as the warm body enveloped her in his arms. She closed her eyes, surrendering to his touch._

_He lowered his head to kiss her lips in a slow drugging kiss that that threatened to draw her soul from her body. His hand rested at her throat worked its way down her body to cup a breast. She moaned low in her throat. As he joined her on the bed and covered her body with his own, Christine could feel his hardness pressing against her, begging entrance to her body. She parted her legs willingly. As he took possession of her, it made her gasp out loud and her eyes snapped open, expecting to see Raoul's eyes and shocked to see the stormy grey eyes of Erik. His smile turned into an ugly sneer as he thrust harder and harder…_

Christine shot up in bed, perspiration dampened her clothing. Her hands flew to her cheeks. She felt the shame that burned on her face. _Why had she dreamt of Erik tonight of all nights? _ She had not had dreams of that nature about him for a long time now. Christine remembered how he had invaded her dreams night after night at the opera house and they had not always been the kind of dreams a good Catholic girl should have about a man.

She got up from the bed, ignoring the unsated ache of her faithless body. She walked over to the washstand, took a cloth, and dipped it in the cold water, trying to soothe the heat of her skin. She met her eyes in the mirror and scowled at herself.

"Christine De Chagny, you are no better than a common whore," she told herself aloud before throwing the cloth to the floor in frustration.

"I couldn't agree more," said a mocking voice, from behind her.

Christine spun around to face Raoul's cousin Rene.

"What are you doing in my room?" she demanded.

"Just arrived. Sorry I missed the funeral and all, but I hear the reading of the will was interesting,"

"Come to gloat?" she asked, as he advanced on her.

She had never liked Rene, not from the day she had first laid eyes on him, on her wedding day. There was something about the way looked at her, almost if he knew what lie beneath her clothing. Christine backed away from him until she met the solid surface of the washstand. She held on to it with both hands as he stopped in front of her. He was so close that she could smell the stale smell of cigar smoke that hung on his clothing and the faint hint of whiskey as he breathed.

He was only a couple of years younger than Raoul, but due to his dissipated life, looked at least ten years older than he had. He was dark and already fine lines showed around his eyes, with the odd thread of silver dotted in his midnight black hair. She flinched as he rested a hand on her shoulder, stroking her long thick hair.

"No, I have come to take over all my cousins assets. All this is mine, the house the money. Become my mistress and you can keep it all. I want to taste what Raoul had. Must have been good at something to keep him interested for all those years," he purred in her ear.

"You're disgusting,"

He laughed. "You know you want it. Chorus girls are no better than…"

Christine slapped him hard across the cheek. Anger flared in his eyes for a moment, before a slow grin spread across his face. He repulsed her as she watched in horrified fascination as Rene leaned in for a kiss. Christine fought back the only way she could as she raised her knee and it connected with his groin.

She was satisfied as he reared away from her and bent himself double. Pain etched in every line of his face. "You bitch!"

Christine used the time to her advantage as she fled the room. She did not stop running until she reached Mme Giry's suite. She pounded on the door urgently with her fists. A few seconds later Madame Giry emerged from the room bleary eyed. She noted the tears running down Christine's face.

"What is it child?" she asked in concern.

"Can I sleep in your room tonight? I do not want to be alone,"

"Bad dreams?" Asked Mme Giry.

"You could say that," she replied as she followed her into the room and closed the door behind them.

* * *

Cherbourg France-The same night.

The liner docked at Cherbourg and a carriage was waiting for him when he arrived on the dock. It was night and the hour was late, but Erik was glad of the cover of night. He did not want his return announced to the whole of France. Some people had long memories. He was tired. Most of his nights spent aboard the ship had been sleepless, as he had often succumbed to wild nightmares of which he had not had since a child.

Most of them had involved Christine and all manner of fates befalling her. If she were dying, he would not want to live himself. That Christine was in the world and living had been the only thing to spur him on to greater things. It had been in his fifth year of living in New York that he wanted her to be proud of the man he had become, and with it had come the realisation that she never would.

If he were not so tired, he would insist on completing his journey this very night. However, his tired body screamed for rest, which he hoped he would find. The carriage pulled into the courtyard of the inn, and Erik handed the driver a gold coin in payment for securing him the best room.

The man returned moments later, giving Erik a toothless grin. He opened the door and Erik alighted the carriage and walked into the tavern. It was relatively empty for due to the lateness of the hour. Most of the men that were there well into their cups and past caring if a travelling circus decided to inhabit the bar.

The proprietor bowed obsequiously at him, recognising money when he saw it. He was more than hopeful that he would get his hands on some of it if he treated the strange looking gent with enough reverence.

He showed Erik to his rooms and he was rewarded with a few francs. Erik was in no mood for grubby little men toadying for his favour. He closed the door in his face while he waited for his luggage to be brought up. The only thing he had brought with him from the carriage had been his violin.** A Stradivarius was not to be trusted in the hands of any fool. He took the violin from its case and stroked the wood lovingly. He had paid a pretty penny for it, but when his bow made contact with the strings, it could produce sounds that would make the angels weep if they had a care to listen.**

**He gently laid it back in its velvet casing as someone knocked on the door. The man stood there with his luggage, Erik took it from the man and closed the door. He sat in a chair in the corner, removed his mask and took out a miniature of Christine, painted on enamel. He had had it commissioned, giving the artist his sketches of her to work from. It went everywhere with him.**

**He stared at the picture until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep.**

When he awoke the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and he growled in frustration as he pulled his gold fob watch from his waistcoat and saw that it was almost ten o'clock. He straightened his crumpled clothing and rang the bell. As the proprietor came to attend him, his greasy smile soon slipped from his face at Erik's deep scowl.

"Have my carriage brought round immediately. I hope at least my food hamper has been prepared?" he drawled.

"Yes, my good lady wife saw to it herself this morning,"

Erik picked up his violin. "Have my things brought down immediately and there might be a few francs in it for you," He brushed past the landlord and dismissed him from his mind as he made his way downstairs.

He sat back in the comfortable interior of the carriage, watching as unfamiliar landscapes passed him by. He was more used to the hustle and bustle of New York than the rural France he remembered. Apart from one change of horses at an inn, there had been no stops and as the night drew in, he reached the outskirts of Paris. He knew it would be wise to wait until the morning to announce himself at the De Chagny estate, but he could not go another minute without knowing what had caused Madame Giry to return the ring to him.

He took it from the pocket of his waistcoat and looked at it. A moonbeam caught the diamonds turning them to silver ice. He clasped it in his hand as he sat in an agony of waiting. The coach eventually came to a stop as the driver got out, opening the large gates to the estate. Erik sucked in a breath. This was it. Would she even be glad to see him? Maybe she was better off without, he was almost tempted to ask the driver to turn the carriage around, but he was no coward. He was here now and he would not leave without finding out what had befallen her.

For some reason the journey up the long drive seemed longer than the rest put together. The driver pulled in the reins and Erik could hear him as he got off the perch seat and came round to the side to open the carriage door.

* * *

Christine wandered the halls. She could not sleep. She was afraid that if she did, she would dream of Erik again and betray the memory of her husband. The fear that Rene would attempt to finish what he had started the previous evening weighed heavily on her mind too, she did not know why she had not confided in Mme Giry about what he had done.

As she walked through the darkened halls, she became aware of the sound of an approaching carriage. _Who could it be at this late hour? Surely there were no more relatives to come out of the woodwork?_ The servants would all be abed and she was loathe to wake them as she made her way to the entrance hall, her one tiny candle to light her way.

The sound of the doorknocker echoed eerily through the cavernous hallway. Christine shivered, although not sure why as her slippered feet made their way silently across the marble floor.

"Who is it?" she asked. She opened the door a crack. The sight of a tall gentleman with his back to her, all dressed in black from the looks of him, stood on the doorstep. "May I help you monsieur?" she enquired.

The man turned to face her. She gasped and turned deathly pale. The candle and its holder clattered to the floor as she looked at the Phantom before sinking to the floor.

TBC


	4. A damsel distressed

A/N A big thanks to everyone that has been reading and reviewing so far. Sorry the chapters have been so long in coming.

A damsel distressed 

Chapter 3

Erik was too stunned to move for a moment, as he looked down at the inert figure on the floor. He had been so relieved to find that she still lived, that all else had fled his mind. He had had little thought for how she would react to seeing him again. The only thing that had mattered was finding out the truth. He took off his black leather gloves and bent down to pick her up. She weighed no more than a feather and by the way he could feel her bones as he held her in his arms he could tell just how painfully thin she was. He carried her into the great hall and called out for help.

Moments later, a sleepy eyed middle-aged woman answered his calls for assistance. She was taken aback by his strange appearance as she crossed her chest.

Erik frowned at her in annoyance. "I am not the devil, you silly woman. Madame has had a shock and has fainted. Show me the way to her room."

She did as she was told, leading him upstairs. He took the flight of stairs with her held tightly in his arms. Finally, they came to a stop outside a door, he kicked it open and walked over to the bed and placed Christine upon it.

"Where is the master? The Vicomte," Asked Erik, noting that the room was empty of any other occupants.

She looked at him nervously. "If you mean Rene De Chagny, he has a suite of rooms in the east wing,"

"No, I mean her husband Raoul,"

"Then you do not know?" she enquired.

"Know what? Spit it out woman, I am in no mood for guessing games," he growled at her.

"The Vicomte De Chagny rests in the cemetery, the same cemetery in which her father lies. She buried him yesterday Sir,"

Erik was truly shaken. He had not expected that. He had expected every scenario imaginable, but that. _So Raoul was dead_. He studied Christine's form on the bed. If any thing, the years had made her more lovely if that was indeed possible. Her hair still curled in the wild way he remembered. He was almost tempted to reach out and touch a stray ringlet, but he was reminded of the fact that he was not alone.

"And her family?" the words almost stuck in his throat.

"Her family monsieur?"

He sighed impatiently. "Her children,"

The woman looked at him calculatingly wondering just how close a friend of the family he was.

"The Vicomte and Vicomtess were childless,"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment with relief and the woman regarded him strangely. He knew it was small minded of him to wish Christine childless when he knew she would make a loving mother, but it would have just compounded his hurt whenever he thought of her marriage.

"Just who are you sir?"

"An old friend of the family," he replied with a wry smile on his face.

"Then I had best prepare you a room," she replied huffily.

He grabbed the woman's wrist as she was about to leave. "I want the room next to Christine's,"

"I-don't know about that," she replied

"Is Madame Giry here?" he demanded.

"Yes monsieur,"

"Then go fetch her at once,"

He fixed her with a steely glare that brooked no argument. She quickly left the room while Erik sat down on the bed next to Christine. She had regained a little of her colour. He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. Feelings he had thought buried under time and distance, came flooding back to him. The realisation that he loved her still as fiercely as the day he had lost her, hit him in the chest.

"Christine," he whispered softly.

She let out a little sigh and he moved away in case she woke up and was alarmed to find him in such close quarters. Erik got up from the bed and paced the room like a caged animal until a tentative knock sounded at Christine's bedroom door.

"Come in,"

The door opened and Madame Giry nervously put her head around it. A hand went to her mouth. It was true; Erik was here in the flesh. He barely looked a day older than when she had last seen him on the stage. A few threads of silver streaked his sideburns, but apart from that, he still looked as strong and vital as she remembered. She let out the breath she had been holding in as she absorbed the expensive cut of his clothes to the gold chain of his pocket watch that gleamed against the black fabric of his waistcoat.

Whatever he had been doing in America it had obviously paid well. An awkward silence hung between them, their relationship had never been a particularly talkative one. In the early days after she had saved him from the travelling circus, he had not spoken at all. Instead, he had sat in a darkened corner clutching his one toy, the roughly sewn monkey, his only possession in the world. Only through time and trust had she ever breached the walls he had built around himself.

Her eyes travelled to the motionless figure on the bed. Mme Giry let out a cry and rushed over to Christine's side.

"What have you done to her?" she asked.

Erik was stung by her rashly spoken words. He pulled all the walls back around himself as he looked at the two women.

"I have done nothing. I may have been a bit unwise in showing up here unannounced. It is hardly my fault if she chooses to fall at my feet at the sight of me,"

Madame Giry looked up at Erik angrily. "Do you have any idea what this poor girl has been through?"

"Not until recently. Your note was hardly descriptive. I imagined all kind of horrors on my journey here. I have heard of the Vicomte's demise. But I am not going to be a hypocrite and offer my condolences,"

"No, if anything you could be accused of, it would not be that. Christine on the other hand has been nursing her dying husband for several months without a word to anyone. Yesterday she discovered that all that she owned including this house is to be left to another,"

Erik felt anger, not at the circumstances to which she had been exposed, but anger, directed at his formal rival, Raoul. _How could he leave Christine so unprotected in this world?_

"Is it the Rene De Chagny that the housekeeper mentioned?" he asked.

Mme Giry nodded. "Oui, a most unpleasant gentleman on all accounts," Both of them were distracted by the low moan that came from Christine's lips. "She is waking, it will be best if you are not here when she awakens. I do not know how much more she can stand,"

"I want to stay,"

"Let me talk to her first. You can see her in the morning. The housekeep is preparing your room per your request,"

Erik hesitated for a moment before quitting the room. Seconds later Christine's eyelids fluttered open. She struggled to sit up, only to be restrained by Madame Giry.

"What happened?" asked Christine. "Wait! I remember…I was walking through the hall and I heard an approaching carriage. I went to find out who it could be and I opened the door. A man stood there with his back to me and then he turned around and it was…no,"

Mme Giry looked at her. "Who did you see?" she urged.

"You will think me run mad, but I saw Erik,"

Madame Giry took Christine's hand. "Your eyes did not deceive you," she told her solemnly.

"He is really here in this house?"

Christine pulled herself out of Mme Giry's hold and sat up, wishing afterwards that she had not as the room swam sickeningly. She lay back against the sheets in defeat. Madame Giry was surprised as a tear fell down the side of her face and onto the pillow, to be joined by another and another. Sobs wracked her body as her weeping intensified.

"Christine, you will make yourself ill," said Mme Giry as she stroked her hair.

"All this time…all this time and not one word! He let me believe he was dead. Does he know how long I mourned him?" she asked through her angry tears. "Well I shall tell you! After the fire and no word, I thought he had died. There was a body recovered from the fire, as you know. All these years I thought it was him!"

"Calm down child, you will wake the whole house," said the older woman, still shocked by her behaviour.

"I am not a child," she said petulantly.

"I can understand why you are angry, but please do not lay all the blame at his door. I knew he was still alive, but I did not tell you,"

"You are still protecting him Mother Giry…why?"

"I thought it best that you continue to believe that the body found was his. For all intense purposes, he was as good as dead to you Christine. You were another man's wife,"

Christine flinched at Madame Giry's use of the words _were another man's wife._ It brought back the enormity of her situation that she now found herself in.

Madame Giry rose from the bed and looked down at Christine. "Did Raoul never tell you of Erik's life before the opera house?"

"No, and I never asked for fear of causing Raoul pain. He always knew that he shared my heart, but he accepted it, and in return, I did not mention Erik. I know his mother rejected him, but…tell me?" She asked.

Madame Giry looked at her reluctantly. "I do not know if it is my place to anymore. It was all so long ago. The last thing Erik would want is your pity,"

"I will ask him in the morning," Christine turned over on her side and stared at the wall, signalling that all talk was at an end.

"Pleasant dreams Christine," said Madame Giry softly as she drifted from the room.

Christine thumped her goose down pillow in annoyance. _Ha, sleep or dreams would be nigh on impossible now._ She thought angrily. Surprisingly after a short while her eyelids begun to grow heavy and she was in the limbo of sleep and awake. As she grew sleepier, she imagined that she heard the faint strains of a faraway violin. _It was the Resurrection of Lazarus_. She would know it anywhere, but it had been so long that she had heard it. Her father had played the exact same tune to her as a child. She was so much older than seven now and all childish fantasies had died the night she had been forced to choose. With a regretful sigh, she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Christine finally awoke, it was to glorious sunshine and the singing of birds. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. A small movement from the corner of her eye alerted her to the fact that she was not alone.

"Erik?" she asked.

A mocking laugh came from the shadows as Rene revealed himself to her. Christine sat up in the bed and looked at him.

"If you keep insisting on entering my room at a whim I shall have to make sure it is locked at night," she snapped.

Rene removed a key from his waistcoat attached to a long ribbon. He swung it back and forth and smirked at her.

"Wouldn't do any good. I now have a key to every room in this house. Although there was only one that was of interest to me,"

"Rene I do not want you. Do you honestly think I would sully my husband's memory and lie with a dog like you? " she spat at him.

"You think I care of that? It's no fun if you come to me willingly,"

"I wouldn't come to you if I were on my deathbed. If you think to wear down my resistance then you harbour false hopes,"

Rene advanced on her. Christine was unsure what to do. If she got up from the bed, he would see her only in her shift and she did not want to inflame his passions more.

He just laughed at her again. "There is only one thing I want of yours and it lies between your legs,"

Christine gasped at the crudeness of his words.

Why don't you call for help m'dear? You already know the high opinion the family has of you. Finding me in your bedroom will only compound what they already believe,"

He sat on the edge of the bed. She could tell by the red hue to his cheeks and the glazed expression in his eyes that he was already in the grip of lust. She could have cried with relief as someone knocked on the door. As the door slowly opened, Rene made no sign of removing himself from his position on her bed. He continued to sit there smirking at her.

What he was not prepared for was the man who moved with inhuman speed, to tear him from the bed and throw him across the room. He hit the washstand, as he fell, banging his head on the hard wooden surface. Rene was stunned for a few moments, before he raised his head to look into the eyes of a stranger. He was taken aback by the fire in the other man's eyes, and almost seemed to diminish beneath it.

"Touch her again and I will kill you,"

There was something in his gaze that Rene saw, which told him that this was no empty threat.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" asked Rene as some of his bravado returned.

"Erik…Devereux," he replied, his eyes fixed on Christine and the pallor of her face. She had remained silent throughout all that had occurred and he was anxious to know her feelings on the subject of his return. "And I am here as Christine's guest," he added.

"I am master here now. I can have you thrown out…" he trailed off as Erik turned to look at him. "But you may stay until Christine leaves. Um yes I must be on my way, lots to do running the estate and all,"

Erik and Christine had long since forgotten his presence as he scuttled from the room. Christine got up from the bed and walked over to him. Erik's breathing constricted in his throat as she stood inches away from him. She was so close that he could smell her rose water cologne as it came off her skin in waves. He was wholly unprepared for the sharp slap as her hand connected with his good cheek.

She had obviously grown a little backbone over the years. He rubbed at his face.

"It's wonderful to see you too my love. A mere thank you would have been enough for rescuing the fair damsel in distress,"

She turned her back on him to pace the room in agitation. "Why did you come back and why now? All these years I thought you were dead. I cried enough tears for you to fill an ocean. You were always capable of cruelty Erik, but this went beyond that,"

"I thought it for the best," he replied.

"_You thought it for the best_. She mimicked his words. "What about, what I wanted?"

"Christine you made your choice. There was nothing left for me to do but leave. I was trying to be fair to you. I would have moved heaven and earth to be with you, but I was a wanted man. What kind of life could I have offered you?"

"You seem to have done well enough for yourself Erik…Devereux. Where did you acquire such a name?"

"The same way I acquired the name of Erik, by chance. That is unimportant. What I want to know is what that man was doing in your room,"

"He is nothing, its Raoul's cousin come to take his rightful place. I am to make my own way in the world. Not only do I have no husband, but i have no money either,"

"Let me help you,"

She turned on her heel. The fire in her eyes caused a jolt of white-hot passion to flood through him. She was magnificent in her anger. Erik closed his eyes, trying to get his body under control. She had already had one man try to take advantage of her. She did not need another.

"I am I so helpless? No, I have made up my mind; I am going to leave this place as soon as humanly possible and return to the stage,"

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Where do you intend to go and do that?"

"I am going back to Paris to throw myself at the mercy of Monsieur's Firmin and Andre. My husband was their patron they have to employ me,"

"You have more faith in their philanthropic tendencies than I do Christine. I can assure you at this moment they will be casting their nets around for a new patron before your husband is cold in his grave,"

Christine turned her back on him and walked over to the window. She was aware that he followed her. She could feel him behind her, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. Christine shivered, even after all these years he still had the power to stir her blood. The feelings that she felt did not befit those of a newly made widow. Christine was deeply ashamed of herself as she wondered how it would feel to lean backwards, melt into his warmth for an hour or two, and forget the nightmare, into which she had been flung. However, something in her heart hardened.

"It's too late Erik, it's all too late. It would have been better if you had never returned," she sighed as she looked out on the park.

Erik was stung by her words, but he refused to give up hope that she would turn to him in her hour of need. He had saved the lonely little orphan, and he was not about to give up on the woman that stood before him. She was too angry to see straight at the moment. She heard the click of the door as he exited the room.

_Oh, why had she been so mean to him?_ Christine felt somehow colder and more alone with him gone. She turned on her heel, looking down as she trod on something that had fallen to the floor. She lifted her foot from it to see her likeness on a tiny cameo. She picked it up to inspect it closer. She turned it over in the palm of her hand to find the initials E. D. engraved upon it. Christine let out ragged sigh and left the room to go in search of its owner and beg his forgiveness for her earlier behaviour.

"Erik!" she called out, only the sound of her echo could be heard in the empty hallway.

She encountered Madame Giry on the way.

"Christine?"

"Have you seen Erik?" she asked.

"Yes, he just left,"

"What do you mean he left?" asked Christine, her voice rising in panic.

TBC


	5. Old Habits

A quick thank you to all my lovely reviewers thanks for your patience in my upadating too.  


Old habits

"He said he had business in Paris and would return by nightfall,"

"Oh thank God. I had thought…he…never mind,"

"What happened?" asked Madame Giry.

"I told him it was all too late…that it would have been better if he had never returned. I did not mean it. I was afraid for a moment that he had taken it as a dismissal…."

"Christine, you know Erik better maybe than all of us put together. It would take a lot more than harsh words to get him to leave. He loves you. Things are often said in anger that we do not mean,"

Christine looked down at the miniature in her hand.

"He loved me once, but that was a long time ago,"

She had felt her responses to him when they had been alone in the bedroom. It frightened her that after all these years he still had the power to make her burn. She was confused. She was still in mourning. She did not now how she felt. Christine cursed her fickle heart, she had been another man's wife for thirteen years and she was already examining her feelings for another.

Madame Giry's eyes travelled to what Christine was staring at. She held out her hand. "May I?" she asked.

Christine handed the little miniature to her.

"I found it in my room. It must belong to Erik,"

Madame Giry smiled at her. "He has carried your image around with him all these years, does that tell you nothing?"

"Only that he has affection for me,"

Madame Giry sighed. When Christine was in one of these moods, she could not see the wood for the trees and it was pointless in trying to make her.

"Come there are papers to go over in your husband's study. The sooner it is sorted the sooner we can leave,"

"Where am I to go mother Giry? What's to become of me?"

Meg came up behind them, making Christine start, as she whispered in her ear. "You are to come and live with me of course,"

Christine turned around and embraced her friend.

"Only for a few days and until I can find lodgings of my own. I have already told Erik, so I might as well tell you…I am going to return to the stage…if Monsieur's Firmin and Andre will have me of course," she added.

Madame Giry and Meg exchanged glances over Christine's shoulder.

* * *

Erik enjoyed the hard pace he had set the magnificent black stallion. He had helped himself to it from the Vicomte's stable. If pressed to say anything good about Raoul, he would say he knew his horses.

He was still smarting from Christine's words. It would be so easy to take this horse, keep on riding to the nearest port, and return to the peace he had enjoyed before Madame Giry's letter had arrived. However, deep down inside he knew it would be fruitless. For some reason he had been appointed her guardian angel, angel of music, or whatever label it was and he would not forsake her.

He had not lied to Madame Giry when he'd said he had business in the city, for he did, with Monsieur's Firmin and Andre. Erik could not help the small curve that lifted at the corners of his mouth. He could imagine their reaction to seeing him again. The horse quickly ate up the distance to the city. It was late afternoon when he arrived in Paris. He stabled his horse in the opera stables. Erik threw a few francs at the sleepy groom and then walked to the farthest darkest corner of the stable. He tapped at the wooden panelling until he found the part he was looking for. He gave it a shove, the panel gave way, and he entered the opera house, concealing the entrance behind him again as he walked forward into the gloom of the dark tunnel.

It was filthier than he remembered, but then again another thirteen years of neglect were bound accelerate the decay of decades. He brushed away the cobwebs with distaste as he made his way through the corridors. The tunnel brought him to the two-way mirror that joined to the dressing room of which he had taken Christine through. He slid back the mirror, surprised that it had not been nailed shut.

It slid back easily as if it had been opened only yesterday. The room was uninhabited although Erik would not have cared if the whole cast of the latest production had been there.

It was almost like stepping back in time. Little had changed to the décor even after all these years. Erik hummed a little tune under his breath as he exited the room and made his way to the manager's office. He knocked on the door and awaited a reply.

"Come in," came the impatient blustery voice of Firmin.

Erik smiled to himself as he slowly opened the door.

Andre was the first to look up from the desk at which he sat, puffing away on a fat cigar. His eyes widened and he reared up from his chair, the cigar smoke caught on his lungs. The newspaper, which had covered Firmin's features, was lowered in impatience.

"Andre what ever is the matter now…dear God in heaven," He said in surprise as he saw the strange man. Although they had never met the phantom up close and personal, there was only one man who had a penchant for wearing masks.

"I-it's the opera ghost come back to haunt us from the grave!" said André. "Fetch the police!"

"Good afternoon gentlemen, I can assure you that I am flesh," said Erik, knocking on the surface of the desk for good measure.

Firmin recovered his composure much quicker than his partner did. "What do you want?" he asked, intrigued.

"I shall get to the point…Christine Daaé has a wish to return to the stage. She intends to audition for you,"

"And you want us to employ her?" asked André, finally finding his voice.

"No, quite the contrary I wish for you to refuse her,"

André and Firmin looked at each other in puzzlement.

"She is very pretty…a Vicomtess would draw a huge audience..." Said André.

Erik sighed his impatience. "This place is looking in fine form…I noticed that the new chandelier is more grand than its predecessor,"

The nervous energy coming from the two managers was almost palpable in the small office. "What of it?" asked Firmin suspiciously.

"Nothing at all. I have a proposal to put to you…have you managed to find a patron to replace the Vicomte yet?"

"Not that it's any business of yours, but no," replied Firmin haughtily.

"How would you like a patron that lives the other side of the Atlantic and is willing to forward you a generous annual sum and give you free reign over how it is to be spent?"

"And who might that be?" asked André, interestedly.

"Why me of course. Maybe you have heard of the new opera house that has just been constructed in New York?"

"We have," replied Firmin.

"I part own it gentlemen. I have more money than I know what to do with. Patronage of this place is well within my means. It is my plan that Miss Daaé becomes the new star at the Metropolitan,"

"And you promise to remain silent…no accidents or broken chandeliers?" Asked André nervously.

Erik held out a hand. "Gentlemen I give you my word,"

Both of the managers looked at Erik's outstretched hand as if he were offering them a viper. Eventually Firmin drummed up enough courage to take it. He shook Erik's hand vigorously.

"I will draw up the papers and return for your signatures. However, remember you are to let Christine audition. She must not know I am behind this, her pride would not allow her to take my offer willingly,"

Erik turned to go, the audible sighs of relief amused him as he turned back to face them.

"Just one more thing,"

"Yes?" asked the managers in unison.

"Box five is to remain empty…permanently," he replied before closing the door quietly behind him.

"Why do I get the feeling that we have just made a pact with the devil?" asked Andre.

Firmin looked at him impatiently, "Oh for heavens sake stop being so melodramatic, business is business," he snapped before returning to his newspaper.

* * *

Christine had rung her hands repeatedly. Supper had come and gone and still Erik had not returned. She had had to endure the lecherous stares from Rene as she sat at the dinner table. Most of Raoul's relations that had journeyed to the estate had left that day leaving her to dine with the one person she loathed and detested most. He had already consumed a bottle of burgundy during his meal and had called for a second one to be served to him.

Christine pushed away her plate. Her appetite quite diminished by the sight of Rene's manners, which would have been better suited to a farmyard than a great estate.

"You think I cannot see you watching me…like something the cat dragged in," he hissed from the far end of the table.

"I do not think upon you at all," she replied coldly.

Christine was glad of the ten feet of mahogany that divided them. Meg and Madame Giry flanked her on either side, both choosing to wisely remain silent.

"Just one more night," whispered Madame Giry "We can leave at first light,"

Christine smiled at Madame Giry. She wondered what she would do without their comforting presence. Rene slammed his wine goblet on the table, making them all start.

"I know you are all talking about me,"

Christine rose from her chair. "I have had enough. I am going to retire for the evening," She threw her napkin down on the table. Meg and Madame Giry followed her as she slammed out of the dining room.

They stood in the hallway; Meg touched her arm in sympathy. "He is a bore, not worth your worry Christine,"

Christine smiled at them weakly. "I really am tired and I haven't even started packing yet,"

Madame Giry nodded. "Then we will see you in the morning,"

Christine walked off in the direction of her bedroom. She had been unable to confide in either women about Rene's unwanted attentions or Erik's reaction to them. The only shame she felt was knowing that Erik knew. _What if he thought she had enticed Rene in someway to keep her home? Surely that would be the last thing he would think. Hadn't she played him though?_

Erik had loved her with all his heart and she had crushed it her hand. She would never forget the heartbreak in his eyes when he had whispered that he loved her. Even as Raoul had been taking them away, she hadn't been able to resist one last glance at him before he was lost forever…except that he wasn't, not any more. He was here now and he seemed somehow different from that wild passionate man she had known all those years ago. _Had loving her, done that to him?_

Christine sighed as she entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She pulled out her valises from under the bed, began to pack the remnants of her old life into the cases, and thought about the new life that would start in the morning. She almost missed the quiet knock at her door, as she was so immersed in her task. It sounded again and this time it registered.

"Who is it?" she asked warily.

There was a pause before her caller answered.

"Erik,"

Christine stopped what she was doing and strode over to the door. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the handle. It must have been raining outside for his hair was wet and moisture beaded on his fine black cape. He was breathing heavily as if he had been exerting himself. Christine felt her mouth go dry at the sight of him. She quickly averted her gaze, looking up and down the hall before admitting him entry to her room. The last thing she needed was inquisitive servants.

She closed the door behind them, suddenly feeling awkward at being alone with him. He shrugged off his coat and laid it on one of the chairs. Christine thought to protest that the silk would be damaged beyond repair, but she realised that she no longer cared, after all none of this was hers anymore.

"Where have you been?" she demanded more forcefully than she had meant to.

Erik looked at her. A tiny flicker of hope sparked inside him. _Was there a slight chance she had missed him?_ He didn't even bother to ask, for he knew she would rather die than admit to it. Instead, he walked across the room to where she stood. She was facing away from him. He turned her around to look at him. Erik was surprised to see the tears that were running down her face. He would rather endure ten lifetimes with out her than see her cry. He removed his rain-dampened gloves to wipe away the wetness from her face. She shivered at the coldness of his hands and at the sharp pang of desire, she felt at his touch.

Erik watched as her eyes dilated and took on a dreamy expression. He grew bolder in his attentions as he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. She did not draw away, caught in the sensual spell he was weaving around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her conscience told her what she was doing was wrong, but she was past caring at that moment, only interested in the sensations he was arousing in her.

"Erik," her voice came out on a soft whisper, full of need.

His body responded to her. He ran his hand down her neck to caress the softness of her throat before leaning in. She closed her eyes in anticipation, wanting his kiss more than anything she had wanted in a long time. He was so close she could feel his breath as it grazed across her lips. The first touch was gentle, so gentle that she thought she had imagined it at first. His hands crept into her hair as he pulled her up against him. Christine could feel his need for her. She groaned low in her throat at the knowledge as Erik fully covered her lips with his own.

Lips and tongues met and tasted as their passion grew. A need that had been bottled up for thirteen long years threatened to burst its confines at any moment, carrying them away on the floodgates of their desire.

"Oh God, Christine I need you so much," Erik muttered as he broke their kiss.

Christine gasped, his words were like cold water, waking her up from this dream. _What was she doing? Raoul wasn't even cold in his grave and she was almost about to go to bed with Erik?_ The cold reason of her sanity crept in once more as she straightened her clothing and looked away, unable to meet his stormy eyes. She wanted Erik, she still wanted him, but she could not allow herself to tarnish her husband's memory in such a manner.

Christine placed her hands on her cheeks in hopes of cooling the bright colour she knew must stain them. She finally looked at Erik, surprised to find he was no longer wearing his mask. _It must have fallen off while they were_…. She didn't want to think on what she had almost done. _She was every bit the whore that Rene had accused her of being_, she thought glumly.

Erik's breathing slowed as he got himself under some semblance of control. He brushed past her to retrieve his fallen mask; she flinched at the contact as if it burned her. He could tell by her expression that there would be no more lovemaking tonight. He sighed in resignation. Maybe it was all too soon; he certainly did not want to be a replacement for a dead man.

"I am sorry…just go…please?" she begged, needing to be alone.

"Very well," he replied Erik nodded at her curtly as he left.

* * *

She could tell by his stride as he'd left the room that he was furious with her. She could not blame him for being so either. She had messed things up again. Christine sat down on the bed. She curled her fists on her lap impotently. She would not give into tears this time she told herself angrily.

She could hear him moving about in the other room as he slammed his door shut. She would go and apologise to him. Christine got up from the bed and walked over to the door. She was however arrested by the sight of the door handle turning. _Maybe it was Erik returning to say he forgave her for her earlier treatment of him? _

When she heard the soft strains of a violin penetrating the walls she knew, it could not be him. Even Erik could not be in two places at once, although it sometimes felt that way. Christine touched the handles only to have the door flung open wide as Rene staggered in and with a wink, he locked the door behind him with the key he still wore about his neck.

"You gave some to the masked monster, now it's my turn. Don't look so shocked. I saw him enter your room…he was here for at least fifteen minutes, plenty of time to tumble you. I listened at the door. You moaned so prettily for your lover,"

Before she knew what his intentions were, he cruelly grabbed her, tore the front of her dress, and squeezed her breast roughly. Christine tried to shove a knee between his legs like the last time, but he was ready for her. He slapped her hard across the face, so hard she fell to the floor and hit her head. As her consciousness faded, she was only glad that she would not be awake for the ordeal that would surely follow.

Erik's bow paused on the strings; sure, he had heard something fall to the floor in Christine's room. He put the violin carefully down on the bed and went to investigate the source of the disturbance. Erik listened at her door; all he was able to hear was the sound of laboured breathing and definitely not Christine's. He tried the doors. They were locked fast. He could see the motionless form of Christine splayed across the bed while that animal pawed at her. There was no time to lose. He ran at the door, pushing up against it with all his weight. After several tries the wood gave way and as he burst into the room.

The sight of Rene with his hands roaming under Christine's skirts was enough to bring out all his old instincts as he hauled the man off the bed and dragged him out into the hallway.

"Come we will settle this like men, although you are no better than an animal,"

Erik dragged him towards the stairs; Rene fought him like the animal that Erik had called him.

"Get off me you circus freak!" he roared as he struggled to be free of Erik's iron tight grip.

He was still unsteady from drink, and he lost his footing on the stairs slipped and he tumbled over the balcony. Erik looked down disinterestedly expecting to see him on the floor below. He was surprised to see him hanging over the edge. He was caught on the railing by a long black ribbon that was tied around his neck, which seemed to have a key on the end of it. He was slowly turning several shades of purple as his air supply was constricted.

"Help me," he gurgled.

"Why should I do that?" asked Erik.

"Please…I will leave here…and never come back," he choked out.

"Do I have your word?" asked Erik.

Rene nodded, now incapable of speech. Erik reached out a hand to help him back over; when he heard a loud crack and saw Rene grow slack. His neck had broken. It was too late, and still Erik did not feel any sorrow for his end. He turned on his heel and walked calmly back to Christine's room as if nothing had occured.

On returning to her room, he was surprised and relieved to find that she had regained consciousness although was a little disorientated. She pulled at the edges of her clothing, her face covering her hair.

"Is he gone?"

"Rene won't be troubling you any more Christine…ever again,"

"Did he manage to…" she could not say the words.

"No, I stopped him in time,"

Christine let out a shaky sob. Erik walked across the room and reached for her dressing gown so she could restore her modesty. She took it from him gratefully as she wrapped it around herself.

"I will leave you then if you think you will be alright?" he asked.

He turned to go, but was surprised as her hand shot out to hold his. "Please…stay?"

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Just hold me…I don't want to be alone,"

She moved over the side of the bed to give him room. Erik took off his jacket and laid it on the chair and got onto the bed beside her. She nestled into him and he lay on his side and wrapped an arm about her. He stroked her hair soothing away some of her hurt. She closed her eyes and slowly felt them grow heavy and as she drifted off to sleep, she felt the safest she had felt in a very long time.

Erik stared down at her. He softly stroked her hair with his other hand until she had fallen asleep. He closed his eyes and joined her. Tomorrow there would be questions about the manner of Rene's death, but all he could think about tonight was holding her in his arms. Tonight was theirs, tomorrow could wait.

TBC


	6. Help me say goodbye

A/ N This chapter would have been out a lot sooner, but its been the school holidays, three daughters will eat up your writing time!

Help me say goodbye

Christine slept the whole night away. It had been the most peaceful rest she had had in months and she felt the better for it. She opened her eyes slowly and looked around the room. From the grey light that penetrated through the drapes, she would guess that it was almost dawn. Smiling sleepily, she lent back into the strong arms that held her close to him.

"Raoul." She sighed before gasping. The memories of the night before came back to her in one cruel rush. Christine turned her head to meet the mocking greyish blue eyes of Erik.

Before she had awoken, he had been watching her sleep. He had even been so bold as to stroke the outline of her face, but drawing away as she had stirred. The smile on her face had warmed him…until she had muttered that one word…Raoul. It had struck him more fiercely than any physical blow ever could. Now he knew he was glad that their lovemaking of before had not been allowed to reach its natural conclusion.

The next time he held her in his arms, and there would be a next time, he would make sure that there would be no doubt in her mind as to whose arms she lay in.

"Sorry to disappoint my dear," he replied coldly as he moved away. Fully anticipating her reaction before she could protest at his embrace.

Christine instantly felt colder, having been deprived of his nearness. She studied him in silence, drawn to his piercing eyes as she had always been. Beneath the studied cold indifference, she thought she perceived a flicker of pain, which she knew she must have caused by calling out her dead husband's name. About to open her mouth to explain, her eyes widened in shock at the sound of some unknown woman screaming down the hallway.

Christine looked at Erik, but he showed no surprise. She scrambled off the bed and left the room. Erik got up from the bed, but at a more leisurely pace, only sorry that their little interlude was over. He already knew the reason for the commotion out in the hallway. What was done was done and haste was not going to change that.

Christine was confused as she saw Madame Giry standing next to the top of the grand staircase, apparently comforting a young maid in her arms as she sobbed hysterically.

"Don't come any closer Christine," Madame Giry warned her.

"Why?" asked Christine. "What has happened?"

The young girl chose to look up at Christine with a tearstained face. "H-he's dead,"

Christine felt coldness penetrate her mind and heart as a latent fear gripped her. "Who is dead?" she demanded as she advanced on them both. She was filled with a morbid curiosity to know the truth.

Madame Giry knew it was pointless to keep Christine as bay as she glanced towards the banister. Christine took a steadying breath and looked over the edge. She pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress the scream that threatened to escape.

Rene De Chagny looked up at her with empty dead bloodshot eyes. Christine gripped the railing, sure, that she would have fallen to the floor if she had not. Erik chose at that moment to arrive. He stood beside her and looked down at the dead man dispassionately before looking at Christine defiantly. Inside he was begging her not to believe the worst of him, although she had full right, considering his violent past.

"How inconvenient," drawled Erik before walking away. He had always found indifference as a useful cloak to mask his real feelings.

Christine watched his retreating form for several seconds before coming to her senses. Her legs finally decided to work as she followed him down the hallway, taking his sleeve, she steered him back into her bedroom and closed the door behind them.

"What do you mean inconvenient?" She demanded. "You knew he was dead…when you came back to me and I asked where he was…you knew he was hanging on that banister…like…like…" she stammered.

"Like the dog he was?" Erik finished for her. "Yes I knew. He got what he deserved. Please spare me the charade of telling me that you actually care he is dead Christine."

She fell silent and looked at the rug.

"I thought not." he replied.

Christine looked at up at him again. "Did you kill Rene?" she asked quietly.

"I wondered when you would get around to that Christine. The answer is no I did not, although I was not exactly quick to help him when he found himself in his current predicament either,"

"So you just left him there to die?" she asked.

"I did not say that either…Christine do you intend to be my judge, jury and executioner?" he asked.

"No, I just need to know the truth that is all. Do you think there are any witnesses to what occurred?" she asked. "There will be an investigation…two Vicomte's dead in a matter of two weeks…"

"Yes, it is rather careless of the De Chagny's isn't it?" he asked.

"I cannot see the humour in this situation. You have the right of it, I will not mourn for Rene, but I will not make light of his death as if it were some big escapade as you are doing,"

"But I would? Because I kill without a thought and murder all that's good?" he enquired.

Christine flinched. "Where did you hear those words?"

"Surely you remember where you spoke them…in the little chapel at the opera house while you and your Prince Charming plotted my downfall. Memories are all I have had to sustain me these long empty years Christine,"

She stiffened, looking at him hardly. "I will not apologise for the truth," she replied, her voice raising an octave. "You killed to get to me…Piangi, what did he ever do to you?"

Erik sighed. "That was most regrettable, but guilty as charged…I misjudged the pressure on the rope and I broke his neck. I never meant to kill him…but the others…people that pried their noses in where they didn't belong they knew the risks they were taking. Ubaldo Piangi was far from innocent…did you know that he and Carlotta were lovers?"

"N-no…I…" Christine was shocked; she walked over to a chair and sat down in it.

"And that Piangi was married with several little Piangi's? He left a wife and children in poverty to become that woman's lapdog! Now tell me he is innocent Christine." Erik looked at her white face, but felt no pity, he was too angry at her inquisition.

"Please try to see it from my point of view Erik. You are asking me to believe that you did not kill Rene, you are back but a day and already people are dying around me."

"Death is a part of life Christine…no matter how it visits us, it visits us all in the end," he replied, walking over to the window and looking out across the expansive park.

Erik was so lost in his thoughts, that he did not feel the feather light touch of her fingers as they covered his hand. He turned to look at her in surprise.

"Tell me Erik…tell me you did not kill Rene and I will believe you," she whispered.

Erik turned to look at her, still holding her hand in his. His gaze was unwavering, as he looked deep into her eyes. "Rene slipped, he was choking. I made a move to help him after he promised to leave this place and never return. I was about to assist when his neck broke. I left him there, as it would have looked more incriminating to anyone that found him. They will say it was an accident, from the smell of him he had been drinking enough to fill the Seine,"

"Thank you, "she sighed with relief. "That is all I wanted to know,"

He smiled down at her. She watched his lips curve up at the corner, becoming rather conscious of those strong lips. She knew how they tasted and felt against her own. Erik became aware of where her eyes rested, her own rosebud mouth was slightly parted, and he saw the flick of her tongue and felt a fierce tug of desire for her. He let her hand fall from his grasp, to curve his free hand around her neck. His fingers stroking the sensitive flesh, causing goose bumps to rise across her skin.

"Christine…I lo…"

Both of their attentions turned to the doorway as Madame Giry stood there observing them both. Her expression was stern, but indecipherable as she regarded them. Christine flushed guiltily and moved away.

"I thought you may like to know that the local magistrate has been sent for," She informed them before leaving with a rustle of her black taffeta skirts.

Christine bit her lip as she looked at Erik. "I don't think you should be here. You are still a wanted man," she reminded him.

"Why do you keep pushing me away Christine? I know you want me too," he asked.

"Its wrong Erik…I am a good Catholic…to lie with you would be a sin," she replied.

"The only sin is denying what you feel," he whispered seductively in her ear.

Christine looked into his eyes, anger flared in them briefly before he mastered it. His anger had always frightened her and aroused her at the same time. Before she knew what he was about, he lowered his lips and kissed her, hardly and passionately. Christine groaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms involuntarily around his neck, returning his kisses with equal ardour. Erik pulled away, leaving her wanting more.

"Sleeping beauty…" he mused, as he looked down at her face, her eyes still closed.

She opened them slowly in confusion. "Wha-at?" she asked, through the haze of her passion addled brain.

"You have been asleep in a dream….all these years…waiting for my touch,"

Christine came to her senses. "Why you arrogant…swi…"

Erik placed a finger on her lips. "There, there I wouldn't want to see those lips sullied with anything other than my kisses," he smiled at her. "There will be a reckoning between you and I. You know it, and I know it…it's just a matter of when,"

Christine's hands clenched at her sides as she glared at him in mute rage.

"The cat got your tongue Christine? Or should I say…the Phantom," he smirked before turning on his heel and walking from the room, leaving her in a state of frustrated desire and anger at his impertinence.

_Sleeping beauty indeed! Raoul had been a very tender lover…but_…she closed her mind off to the but…however, it crept back in to haunt her. _Raoul had never caused her to burn from want of touching him._ There she had thought it, _and confession was several days away._ Christine slumped on the bed in, her emotions in a maelstrom of contradictions.

* * *

When Erik left Christine's room and walked out into the hallway, he was not surprised to see Madame Giry waiting for him.

He held up a hand. "I know what you are going to say before you say it, so please spare us the time of debating the matter. I did not kill Rene De Chagny,"

"Then you are wrong. I was simply going to say that cannot stay here,"

"Thank you Madame Giry, I have already had that pointed out to me by Christine. Although I am innocent in this matter, I feel I should acquaint you with Rene De Chagny's favoured nighttime activities. He was about to violate Christine. I stumbled upon him in the act, Christine can fill you in on the details. I am to go to Paris and await your arrivals there,"

"I will see about having you a carriage ordered," she replied.

"Thank you," Erik replied as he went to his room.

* * *

He had barely even bothered to unpack on his arrival. Therefore, it was no surprise that he was ready to leave within half an hour. Christine could hear him moving about in the next room. _So he was leaving as she had asked, but where would he go?_

Madame Giry entered the room unannounced. Christine sat up on the bed and looked at her with mournful eyes.

"What you walked in on…it is not what you think,"

Madame Giry smiled a mirthless smile. "Christine, I am old but I am not stupid. I know he spent the night in your room, or at least he came from it when the alarm was raised about Rene. You do not have to tell me anything. You are a grown woman. It is no ones business but your own. I did not come here to talk about that…Erik is leaving…do not look so concerned, he will await us in Paris," Madame Giry informed her.

Christine sighed with relief, before looking up at Madame Giry. "He tried to rape me you know…Rene…"

Madame Giry made a sound of distress. "Erik told me. Had he tried to harm you before last night?"

Christine looked away.

"You have to stop carrying around the weight of the world on your shoulders. When will you realise there are people here that love and care for you and are willing to share the burden?" asked Madame Giry, a note of anger creeping into her voice.

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "All those months of taking care of Raoul alone just made me more self reliant…that has to be a good thing,"

"But it has also made you boneheaded at the same time," replied the older woman, taking her in her arms, to soften her words.

* * *

There was a knock at the door before it opened. Erik stood there in his travelling cape. Even with his face half covered, he was breathtaking to her. From the white collar of his shirt that was peeking from beneath the cape, right down to his black shiny shoes. Christine had to swallow a couple of times before she could trust herself to speak. It was then that it hit her…every arrogant word he had spoken to her less than half an hour ago was true. She had been asleep these past thirteen years. Now that he was here, she was as awake and alive as she had been when she was a green girl at the opera populaire. She felt such a hunger for life, which it threatened to consume her.

Her heart already ached at the prospect of his leaving, but she would not give him the satisfaction of showing it to him. She needed to keep some small part of herself for her, or she feared that she would become engulfed by the emotions he aroused in her, sometimes just by a single look. It frightened her a little in the same way it had frightened her all those years ago.

Aware of Madame Giry's presence in the room, Erik walked towards Christine and took her hand and kissed, it. His lips lingered on her flesh for a moment. Although it had been meant as a chaste form of farewell, it had burned through Christine like the most intimate of kisses they had shared. A slow blush coloured her cheeks. Erik smiled at her and nodded at Madame Giry before he left.

He turned around to look at Christine once more. All pretence had slipped from his face as he allowed her to see the raw emotions that glittered in his eyes. Christine felt a sharp pain in her chest, the agony in his eyes reminded her of that goodbye so many years ago.

"Until Paris," he said shakily.

"Paris," was all she could respond.

Tears moistened her eyelashes as she struggled to maintain control of herself. She wanted nothing more than to run to his arms and beg him to never leave her again. At that moment, her eyes rested on the silver framed photograph of her husband that sat on her bedside table. It was like a dash of icy cold water to her senses as the shame crept in once more.

Erik saw what had caught her attention; he turned on his heel angrily and left the room. Madame Giry had watched the couple and their reactions with interest. Whatever Erik had done in her room last night, he had not made love to her. He still had the look of a man, hungry for love and for the touch of the woman, he desired more than life itself.

Christine watched from the window of her bedroom as the carriage rolled by, taking with it her heart. A heart that was troubled with the love for a man who had loved her and cared for her for almost thirteen years and had been taken from her and a man whom she had thought dead, but now lived. _Why couldn't life be simpler? _She asked herself angrily as she awaited the magistrate.

* * *

One week later….

"Is that everything? I do not wish to return to this place ever," Christine said with feeling.

Madame Giry squeezed Christine's arm in understanding. Rene's death had been of very little inconvenience to the members of the De Chagny family. They seemed to be as the hydra in Greek mythology…cut one of their heads off and another sprouted in its place. A rather young and unassuming man by the name of Etienne had arrived to take over the estate. He was gentle and kind in his manner and had offered to let Christine stay as long as she liked. However, she had refused him, eager to make her own way in life.

She had sent a letter to the managers of the Opera Populaire and they had received her request with great alacrity. Christine settled against the cushions of the carriage. The future looked much brighter than it had a few days ago.

She took one last look at the house, before she turned away. "Goodbye Raoul," she whispered before she glanced at Meg, who looked at her with a little smile, before taking her hand in hers. "Thank you for being here," Christine smiled.

"What are friends for?" asked Meg.

"No, not friends…sisters," Christine replied firmly.

The last few days had been filled with questions about Rene and the manner of his death. Fortunately, several servants had been able to attest to Rene's love of strong drink. Although the magistrate had been very interested to find that, the key, which Rene had worn around his neck, had been the key to Christine's bedroom. He had finally ruled that it had been an unfortunate accident and there was no crime. Christine had been relieved that he had shown little interest in her short-term guest that had left before his arrival.

The plan was to go Meg's apartment and freshen up, before paying a visit to Monsieur's Andre and Firmin to arrange an audition. Christine hoped that Erik would pay them a visit and would be willing to coach her voice. She knew it was presumptive of her, but he had taken such pleasure in teaching her once, maybe he would again. She knew her voice was still good, but it could be better, having grown sadly rusty from little use. She and Raoul had rarely entertained and he had tried to play down her roots in the performing arts.

Her heart raced within her chest. They were on their way to Paris…Erik was there and she had missed him with an agony, she had never imagined possible.

TBC


	7. Only You

A/N Sorry for the lateness again, thats if any one is reading due to being too busy watching the Poto DVD lol

You alone

Forget me not 6

Christine had plenty of time to contemplate her new life on the carriage ride into Paris. Madame Giry had fallen asleep and Meg seemed lost in her own thoughts. The busy bustle of the streets was alien to her after the rural peace she had enjoyed on her husband's estate. The smells, sights, and activity also brought back many deeply buried memories. She let her mind drift off to those last few months at the opera house…when she had been under Erik's tutelage and thrall, for want of a better word.

He had seemed so dark and mysterious; filling her senses from the moment she had took his hand and allowed him to lead her down to his domain. Christine remembered the excitement she had felt at his touch…as he had held her to him, tightly. She had been totally defenceless, as he had run his gloved hands up and down her body. His whispered words…_let your darker side give in_…she shivered in remembrance. Those words spoken so long ago sounded as sensual now as they had back then. She had wanted to give in, but she had not understood the wild racing of her blood or the heat he had aroused in her.

The carriage was no longer moving and the footman was holding open the door, looking at the occupants expectantly as he lowered the step. He held out a hand to assist her from the carriage. Christine looked around her. Little had changed since she had last lived here. Meg scrambled from the carriage, seemingly eager to reach her front doorstep. Christine soon noticed the reason for her haste as she spotted a huge bouquet of red roses. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest…_were they from Erik?_ She wondered.

Madame Giry stood by Christine, a slight frown of disapproval on her face as she looked at the rich luxuriant flowers. Meg bent down and read the card.

"Thirteen red roses for thirteen long years, ED…Oh I think they might be for you Christine," flushed Meg. She handed the card to her.

Christine looked down at the small white rectangle of pasteboard. His strong fluent strokes dominated it; much like his presence dominated her. She touched the words with her gloved hand before carefully placing it within her reticule. Meg turned away to lift up the terracotta flowerpot, retrieving her key.

"That is a bit foolhardy of you Meg," scolded her mother.

"I have nothing worth taking mother, except maybe my virtue," She grinned as she opened the door and waited for Christine to follow her. "And that's already taken," she whispered to a shocked Christine as she passed her in the hall.

The apartment was situated on the first floor, it was cheery and bright and lifted Christine's flagging spirits a little. She turned to see Madame Giry cradling her roses in her arms.

Madame Giry held them out to Christine. "You forgot your roses…flowers are like people, they wither and die without love and attention. Take good care of them Christine,"

Christine took the flowers from her and looked at them. She looked back at Madame Giry, and nodded, understanding the unspoken message in her eyes. Her thoughts turned to Erik. It was hard to imagine him as vulnerable and needing of love…but he was a man. He lived and breathed, he laughed and he cried like anyone else. Christine sat down on the nearest chair and stroked the soft petals. Where would all these feelings between her and Erik lead? Was she ready to let another man into her heart so soon? Society would surely condemn her for it. She wished she could be more like the man who had given her so much. Erik lived by his own set of rules. Popular opinion had never troubled him.

Meg saw the pensive look in her friend's eyes; she took the blooms from her unresisting fingers and walked out of the room in search of a vase. Christine sagged down lower in the chair. The sting of tears threatened to spill into a flood as the enormity of her changed circumstances hit her once more. Madame Giry saw her face crumple and went to her side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"There Christine, it will get better I promise you," she soothed.

Christine wiped away her tears. "Take no notice of me Mother Giry. It's been a chaotic few days that's all,"

"Let me fetch you some tea," said Madame Giry "The English swear by it,"

Christine could not help but respond to the older woman's teasing as a slow smile spread across her face. "Thank you, that  
would be nice,"

* * *

Almost two hours had passed until Madame Giry was content that Christine was settled, before taking her leave and making her way back to the opera house dorms.

Meg had closed the door on her mother and turned around to look at Christine. "Alone at last, now what would you like to do on your first night of freedom?" Meg instantly groaned aloud. "Oh Christine…I did not mean…"

"Please don't walk around on eggshells for my benefit Meg. I understood your meaning. I for one am all done in. I think an early night is on the cards for me,"

There was a knock at the door. Christine's eyes lit up before she could hide her reaction. It was not unnoticed by Meg. She got up from the sofa and disappeared downstairs. Christine dared not move. She heard the door open and the unmistakable tone of a male voice. _Had Erik come to visit?_ Finally gathering her senses, Christine got up from the chair and walked over to the mirror that hung on the wall. She checked her reflection, instantly annoyed with herself. _Why should she care what she looked like or what Erik thought on the subject for that matter?_ She asked herself angrily. Still she could not resist tucking a stray curl that had escaped its pins, behind her ear.

Christine turned automatically as she heard the approaching footsteps. She felt lancing disappointment as she was met by a mischievous pair of blue eyes that belonged to no other than Luc Firmin. She had met the young man on several occasions on her rare visits to the opera house with her husband. He held out a hand to Christine and she took it, pressing her fingers to his in greeting. He was handsome enough, although where he had gotten his good looks puzzled Christine as she could see no more than a passing resemblance to his father.

"Good day Luc,"

"Good day Vicomtess…I was sorry to hear of your…um loss,"

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

He turned his attention back to Meg. "I have come to take you out to dinner in celebration of your return," he announced.

"I could not dream of it Luc. It's Christine's first day here, I cannot leave her,"

Christine held up a hand in protest. "Please do not make such a fuss on my account. I am well able to endure an evening alone. In fact, I would welcome it. I am not much up for company at the moment,"

"See, if Christi…I mean the Vicomtess does not mind, then what can be your objection?"

"Luc, please call me Christine. I am not strictly a Vicomtess anymore, and it makes me feel about ninety," sighed Christine. _No, she was not anything anymore, not even someone's wife. _She told herself resolutely.

"I don't want to leave you, it wouldn't be fair,"

"I cannot take this anymore! All this concern…you are killing me with kindness!" cried Christine as she ran from the room.

Meg followed her out into the hallway, taking her arm, as she would have run blindly down the stairs.

"Christine!"

"I am sorry for what I said Meg, but I feel so suffocated. Go to dinner with your young man, I will be fine for a few hours. I am not an infant!" pouted Christine.

"Then stop behaving like one and come back in the sitting room," replied Meg, one of her blonde eyebrows arched at her. "I have a dinner date to get ready for,"

Christine smiled at her friend gratefully as she followed her back into the room. She flushed guiltily as she looked at Luc, before taking her place on the sofa once more.

* * *

As night settled over one of the most romantic cities in the world, Christine had never felt more alone than she did tonight. She watched from the window as Meg waved up to her before getting into the hired carriage with Luc. She replaced the curtain and walked aimlessly around the room. She had wished for solitude earlier, but now faced with it she was not so sure.

Christine walked to the bedroom and slowly removed her clothing and changing into her night rail. She had just belted her dressing gown around her waist when she heard the doorbell. She frowned, before her face cleared. Meg must have forgotten something. Christine left the bedroom and hurried downstairs. She flung the door open.

"Oh Meg, trust you to forget…Oh!" the words died on her lips as she saw the dark figure standing on the doorstep. His features were in shadow, but she was left in no doubt who it was.

"Do you always answer the door dressed only in your night garments?" Erik drawled.

He stepped forward into the hallway. Christine pulled the edges of her dressing gown around her more tightly, suddenly feeling naked under that piercing gaze.

"No, I mean not that it's any business of yours!" She snapped defensively before turning and walking back up the stairs. Hearing the door closing, she turned briefly afraid that he had left. He was so close behind her that she almost collided with him. He held on to her to stop her from stumbling. Christine flinched as if she had been burned as his strong hands made contact with the bare skin of her forearms. She should ask him to leave, but in her heart of hearts, she knew she did not want to.

Christine turned up the kerosene lamps in the sitting room, finding the soft light altogether too intimate for her peace of mind. Erik removed his gloves and laid them on the small table by the sofa before taking a seat. Meg's spacious apartment somehow seemed to shrink in size with his dominating presence.

"Come and sit down Christine," he patted the seat next to him. "I do not bite,"

Christine flushed as her mind wandered to a place it had no business in going. Erik seemed to be able to conjure the most sinful images in her mind with just a few innocently spoken words. When she deliberately sat in the chair opposite him, he could not help the wry laugh that escaped his lips..

"You are suffering from a distinct lack of curiosity for the reason of my visit. Unless you are used to entertaining men half dressed and at such an hour?" He glanced at the dresser. "I see you got my welcome gift,"

At a loss to say anything else, she took retreat in small talk. "Yes, they were lovely…thank you," She glanced at the roses standing in the vase on the dresser, their heady scent filling the room and overpowering her much like the man seated a few feet away from her.

The mantle clock ticked in the silence of the room as he continued to stare at her. Christine could look no higher than his snowy white shirt, which was a mistake she regretted as she could see the pulse that beat a steady rhythm in the strong column of his throat.

"Erik…" her voice came out in a breathy whisper as she raised her eyes to him.

"Yes?"

"I want you to teach me…to sing again," she finished hurriedly before she totally lost her nerve.

Erik smiled a slow smile as he looked back at her. "For a moment there I thought you were going to ask something entirely different altogether my sweet," he said mockingly.

She blushed anew at his words.

"Please Erik, it's been so long since I sang. I have an audition tomorrow with Andre and Firmin. I need this chance…so badly.." her breath caught on a sob.

Erik looked at her pleading face and he was filled with a deep regret for his actions. It was short lived, now that he had her back in his life he needed to be able to see her and be with her. Thirteen years had passed. _How many more could they afford to waste in wondering what might have been?_ Besides he had been in Paris long enough, his presence would be required back in New York. _She would thank him for it eventually, wouldn't she._

Erik stood up and removed his cape, draping it over the arm of the chair. He held out a hand to her and she took it.

"Very well, I will help you. Not much can be done in a single evening, but we can at least practice your scales. I want to see what thirteen years of neglect has done to such a beautiful instrument. Sing for me something that will not strain your vocal chords too much. It will have to be without music, I would have brought my violin if I had known that was how I was to be spending my evening," he sighed a little ruefully. "Best to start with what you know…hmm the aria from Hannibal…think of me,"

Christine took a breath and tried to remember her posture as she began to sing. Erik stood in a darkened corner across the room watching her silently. His arms folded across his chest. She was unable to read his expression as his face was hidden by shadow. She was through the first line of the second verse when he held up his hand.

"Please stop Madame. My poor ears cannot take any more abuse!"

Christine closed her mouth, her cheeks burned with mortification and she felt tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "I know I am a little out of practice but…"

Erik shook his head slowly. "The fault is not yours, but your husband for caging such an exotic bird. Your wings have been clipped Christine, but you will fly again…with my guidance,"

"Do not speak of Raoul in that way…he was a wonderful and loving husband and he…"

"Bored you to tears Christine!" Erik finished vehemently.

"How dare you!" Christine cried, shocked more at herself as his words struck a chord of truth within her. She automatically raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it easily.

"I let you get away with that when we met again because I deserved it. Do not try my patience further on the matter,"

Christine struggled against his harsh grip, before he released her hand. "This is not going to work. I think you should leave, any gentleman would,"

"But I never claimed to be one. Enough of this childishness, when I saw you that night at your home I had hoped you had grown up a little. It seems that Raoul has kept you a child," he replied insultingly. "Now again from the beginning,"

Christine was too stunned to protest as he came up behind her, straightened her shoulders, and rested his hands on her abdomen. She finally found her voice and made a sound of disapproval.

"Calm down Christine. I am making sure that your abdominals are relaxed. If I had something else in mind you would know about it," he whispered in her ear. His warm breath did nothing to control the wild beating of her heart. "Sing for me,"

Christine closed her eyes and began to sing. After the first couple of verses, she felt herself start to relax in his arms and her voice instantly sounded much better. She cursed Erik for being right, _why did he always have to be right?_ She thought angrily. She decided to pour all her passion into her music and as the last note rang out, silence descended on the room.

Christine did not move, waiting for his response or at least his ridicule, but as the minutes passed, none came and still he did not release his hold on her.

"Erik?" she asked uncertainly.

He took her hand and turned her around in his arms. There was a suspicious wetness, which coated his eyelashes. He looked into her eyes and she gasped aloud at the desire and longing she read in them.

"Oh Christine…" he spoke her name on a sigh.

Christine smiled at him. She was tired of always fighting this man when all she wanted was for him to hold her, propriety be damned. She had loved her husband, but it was like comparing the sun to the moon when he touched her, she knew that now.

"Yes…Erik…Yes," she replied to the plea in his voice. Christine could not deny him anymore or herself for that matter.

"Yes what Christine? I need to hear you say it…say the words. Tell me what you want,"

Christine looked away. "I don't think I can,"

Erik placed a finger under her chin. "There is no shame in wanting another person no matter what your religion teaches you. I will not lie to you Christine, there have been others, but not for a long time and no one that I cared about…ever. I have never allowed anyone to kiss me, but you. My kisses belong to you alone. You are what I live and breathe for, tell me I mean just a fraction of what you mean to me and I would die a happy man right now,"

Her heart broke anew for the emptiness and loneliness he must have borne these past thirteen years, and if she were honest with herself maybe his whole existence. He needed this, her total surrender. Only then could he be free of the darkness that surrounded his heart. She held out a hand to him and he took it.

Her eyes never broke contact with his as she smiled at him. "Make love to me Erik,"

He pulled her to him in a tight embrace, so tight that she could scarce draw breath. Christine's hands touched his face, her fingers wandering to the edge of his mask.

"No," he said firmly, as he took ahold of her questing fingers.

"There is nothing to fear," she told him earnestly.

"But there is for me. I don't want you to stop looking at me as you are looking now…"

Christine's eyes glistened with tears. "Take it off," She placed a soft kiss on his hand that held her own so tightly.

Erik took a deep breath, unable to deny her anything. "Very well," he said with deep resignation. He tore the mask from his face, almost savagely, tossing it onto a nearby chair. "Now tell me you still want me to lead you into that bedroom and take you,"

"No," Christine saw the pain in his eyes, thinking she was refusing him. She quickly took his hand. "Instead I will lead you, nothing has changed…make love to me Erik,"

He bent his head to kiss her lips, in a slow burning kiss that travelled to the pit of her stomach and lower. She felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks no longer sure to whom they belonged. She had been waiting for this for thirteen years and she had finally awoken just as he had predicted she would.

TBC


	8. Body and Soul

**Dedicated to my great niece Kayla who died before she had a chance to live. Born May 7th 2005. Here for a moment, but in my heart forever…Forget you not. **

Chapter 7

Body and Soul

Christine could spend her life telling herself that what she was doing was wrong, but it felt so right. As she took his hand, she knew that she had been in search of this all her adult life and had finally found it. They walked silently to her bedroom. Erik stopped briefly to pick up one of the lamps as she led the way. Christine reached out to turn the handle, glancing up at him shyly as she opened the door onto the darkened room.

The solitary lamp cast a soft glow in the room not quite reaching to the darkened corners. Christine's head snapped around at the finality of the click as Erik closed the door quietly closed behind them. For several long slow movements neither of them dared move, but he finally reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. Christine's fingers closed over his own.

"Erik I…"

He placed a finger on her lips. If she just flicked her tongue out a little, she could touch it, she thought to herself, almost shocked at the wickedness of her own thoughts. "There are no words for tonight Christine, none that would do it justice,"

Erik leaned in and replaced his finger with his lips. Christine sighed against him as she let him explore her mouth. Her hands lifted to touch his face, her fingers entwining in his hair. It was surprisingly soft to the touch. She had forgotten that.

What she had not forgotten was how good his lips felt against her own. His strong hands encircled her tiny waist making her feel very feminine as she pressed against him, pleading for closer contact. She recalled her dream she had had of him the night Raoul had died, when he had taken her in her sleep and how she had responded to it even after she knew it had not been her husband.

Christine gasped into his mouth as his hand travelled up the bodice of her nightgown to settle on one of her breasts. She sucked in a breath and Erik pulled away, looking down at her in deep satisfaction. Needing to witness and savour each reaction that flitted across her expressive face.

He continued to look at her as his hand slipped beneath the fabric and touched her naked flesh. Her eyes widened as he cupped her bare breast while unbuttoning her gown with his other hand. Christine watched at his long nimble fingers made short work of her clothing. She instantly felt jealous of the other women that had been with him this way, but just as quickly felt ashamed for her selfish thoughts. _Did she expect him to live alone forever, never knowing comfort of another? Until a few days ago, she had not thought of him as living at all._ No she would be thankful that he was here, warm and alive and touching her in a way she had only dreamt of.

She smiled as he peeled the gown off her shoulder, shivering in the coldness of the air. Her skin covered in Goosebumps as he bent his head and his lips trailed her shoulder. His tongue flicked out, tracing her collarbone. He tasted the saltiness of her skin and nipped at her gently with blunt teeth. Christine unbelted her dressing gown to assist him, suddenly feeling overdressed. She let it fall to the floor and turned her own attention to the cravat at his neck, unclipping the diamond pin that held it in place and putting down on the nightstand

Trembling hands attempted to unbutton his snowy white shirt. He smiled down at her tenderly before taking her fingers and completing the task for her. Christine touched the smattering of dark hairs on his chest. Erik closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands as they explored his body. She looked instinctively lower, flushing as she saw his obvious desire for her in the outline of his close fitting black pants.

Erik opened his eyes as he felt her touch falter and saw where her eyes rested. "Touch me Christine…" he urged.

"I am already touching you…oh!" she blushed as his meaning sank in

Her hand made a slow journey down the hard flat planes of his stomach and came to rest at the waistband of his pants. She felt herself respond to his plea. She knew the contours and shape of a man, but he was nothing like her husband had been. He was much broader and somehow he still held that aura of danger, which excited and aroused her at the same time. She took a deep breath, did as he asked, opening the top button and her hand slid inside.

Erik sucked in a breath and Christine felt emboldened by the expression in his eyes, experimentally moving her hand. Erik gripped her arm to steady himself.

"Christine…don't stop," he moaned.

His hands were busy exploring her body and all she could think of was the fingers that caressed her, leaving her aching for more. Erik read some of the desperation on her face as he lowered his head to her breast. He raised his head moments later and kissed her hard on the mouth before picking her up and carrying her over to the bed. He placed her on gently on its surface before moving away.

He removed his jacket and shrugged out of his shirt, giving her a much better view of his body. Christine found it pleasurable to watch him undress. His movements were slow and unconsciously sensuous. He finally removed his pants to stand naked before her. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his unclothed body; it was everything she had imagined it to be.

Christine began to take off her own remaining clothing, but Erik moved quickly to take ahold her hands.

"I want to undress you," he told her as he joined her on the bed.

Christine lay back as he covered her body with his own, closing her eyes in ecstasy as she felt his hand slip beneath her gown and trail along the length of her thigh.

Christine's eyes opened slowly, this was nothing like what she had shared with Raoul. Erik seemed to not only want her body, but her soul too. The feelings inside her threatened to overwhelm her, but she was unable to deny his softly spoken command

"I need you," she whispered back.

A fire seemed to burn in his eyes as her words. He took a handful of the delicate material of her nightdress and tore it from her. No longer the gentle lover, but a man half crazed with desire for the woman he had loved for so long. Christine welcomed his ardour as it matched her own. She pulled his head down to hers and they kissed passionately, his tongue tracing her lips before plunging into her mouth. He would never get enough of her kisses having been starved of them for so long.

Christine pressed up against him, parting her legs instinctively. Erik lifted his head to study her face as his hand went between their bodies. She looked back at him unashamed. She gently touched his face, not looking away as in one swift movement; he joined his body to hers. He kissed her lips more tenderly this time, taking her mouth in almost the same instant.

He felt more wonderful than she could have ever imagined in a thousand dreams. The look of pure joy on his face was enough to make a tear fall down her cheek, to be lost in the thickness of her hair. No matter what the future held in store for them, this moment would live with her forever.

Their pace built as their urgency grew with it. Black spots formed behind Christine's eyes as he took her body and soul; just had he had wanted to. The words of his fated opera were the last coherent thoughts to flit across her mind _what raging fire shall flood the soul._

Their bodies took over in the rhythm of the ancient dance, of which all lovers partake. She gripped his hips, welcoming his passion and returning it in full.

"Erik!" she cried out as her head collapsed against his sweat-slicked shoulder. Moments later he let out a guttural cry as her joined her. As their breathing slowed, she saw a shadow of pain cross his face. He rolled off her abruptly and turned onto his side.

Christine felt tears spring to her eyes, at what seemed to be his rejection. _Had she displeased him in someway? _She glanced at his profile in confusion. Noticing for the first time, that his shoulders were shaking.

"Erik?" she asked. There was no reply. "Talk to me, tell me what I did wrong," a sob rose in her throat.

Erik finally turned around to face her. He touched her cheek finding that was wet with tears. Christine was shocked to discover that he had been crying too. "Don't you understand? You did nothing wrong…it was beautiful,"

"Then why?"

He smiled wryly. "Christine the first time I ever received a kiss from another person…it was you. I always thought I was destined to live life alone after that. It is all I ever planned for and then you came back to me. Please do not tell me this is some kind of widow's rebound. Now that I have had you, I find I am more wretched than ever before…at the thought that it meant everything to me and nothing to you," he finished.

Christine felt the anger rise within her. "How dare you think that it was meaningless to me! I put aside my faith, my memories of my husband. I risked everything to take this chance on us,"

Erik wiped at his face fruitlessly. That tiny little word **_us_** had told him all that he had ever needed to know. Christine took a fragment of her torn clothing and dried his tears, smiling down tenderly at him the whole time. She pulled the blankets around them both as Erik turned to face her. Draping an arm about her shoulders, he bent his head to kiss her more gently now that their passion was spent for the time being.

This was another first for him, being held. He would tell her that one day, but for now, he just wanted to close his eyes and enjoy their moment. To his surprise, he found being in her arms was almost as breathtaking as making love to her. He kissed the top of her hair, breathing in the rosewater scent that lingered. He smiled to himself as he felt her fall asleep in his arms. Sleep would not come to him, he opened his eyes again as he found all he wanted to do was watch the miracle as it unfolded and she entrusted herself to him.

* * *

Meg wriggled out of Luc's grasp in the back of the carriage. "Stop it," she giggled as his lips touched her neck. "We have to think of Christine," she reminded him.

"Oh, I am definitely not thinking of her at this moment. Does that mean that I don't get to come up tonight?" he asked, pulling a teasing pout.

"Well, maybe for a little while," she sighed.

The carriage pulled up her lodgings. Luc helped Meg from the carriage, taking her in his arms as it continued on its way.

"God I've missed you,"

"I've missed you too," she replied, realising that it was true. She leaned in for a kiss, distracted for several minutes before she pulled away at him. "We really must go up. I won't relax until I know that Christine is fine,"

Luc slapped her rear in resignation as he opened the door and they walked upstairs together. Meg opened the sitting room door and frowned. It was still early by Parisian standards. She had at least expected to find her friend in the company of a good book. She looked around the darkened room, unable to see little until Luc lit one of the lamps. With a bit of light shed on the matter, she noticed a pair of black leather gloves resting on the arm of a chair, alongside a man's cape.

A suspicion grew in her mind. _Maybe Erik had called and left in a hurry and forgot them_, she thought. Desperately trying to find a good excuse for why his personal items would still be here. She hoped more than anything that Christine had not done something as foolish she began to suspect she had this early on in her widowhood.

She walked across the room to the door that was next to her own bedroom. Luc came up behind her. "If you wanted to go to bed, all you had to do was ask,"

"Ssshh!" she said in irritation.

Meg turned the door handle slowly and as quietly as she could. The lamp had burned low and the light was poor, but cast enough illumination so that she could not mistake the outline of two people on the bed. Nor did she miss the pile of clothing haphazardly scattered around the room. She closed the door on the sleeping couple no longer wanting to intrude. Questions could wait for later. She sighed and turned to Luc.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "And to think you cut our dinner date short to check on the merry widow. Looks like she is doing just fine on her own…or should I say with Erik,"

"Erik…how did you know who it was?" asked Meg.

"Of course I know who he is. Father told me all about him at dinner the other night. He is to be the new patron of the Opera Populaire. Besides, he has literally haunted the Opera house this past week. I have seen him on several occasions,"

"What?" asked Meg. She looked at Luc, he obviously did not know the nature or history of the man his father had dealt with or that in fact he was indeed the opera ghost that had liked nothing more than to do just that…haunt the opera house. She rubbed at her temple, suddenly feeling very weary.

"Calm down my love. With the Vicomte deceased, my father had to find funding somewhere. Besides it keeps you in work, although I don't know why you won't let me set you up with a place of your own,"

"Luc we have been through this before, I will not be any man's mistress. I am tired, I think I will have an early night," she said turning away.

He knew by her set expression, she had presented him with moments before, that it would be useless to try to persuade her otherwise. He sighed heavily before kissing her on the cheek and hurrying down the stairs.

Meg made straight for her room. She just hoped Christine knew what she was doing. She opened the door to her bedroom and went inside, lighting a candle before undressing for bed. The Phantom's old mask, which she had kept all these years, caught her eye. She sighed softly before snuffing out the candle and climbing into bed.

* * *

Christine awoke and stretched out in the bed like a cat awaking from a deep sleep. She smiled as she remembered the events of the previous night. She turned over to look at Erik. Sharp disappointment flooded her as she discovered that the space in the bed next to her was empty. A rose, that he must have taken from the vase in the living room rested on the pillow. Next to it was a sheet of paper, with just the word **_later_ **scrawled across its surface. It took a little of the sting of his absence away as she picked it up and breathed in its scent.

Christine got up from the bed and winced a little. She ached in new places that she did not think possible. They had made love once more in the night, the second time it had been slow and leisurely. He was a passionate intense lover, just as she imagined he would be. Christine pulled on her robe and walked over to the mirror. She examined herself in it, wondering why she did not look remarkably different. There were faint marks on her neck and her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses, but apart from that, she looked the same old Christine. She heard the chime of the clock from the bedroom. It was eight o'clock. Her audition was set for nine. She had no time to waste. She quickly washed herself with water from the washstand and dressed in something she hoped would be suitable for an audition. She would have to break with tradition and cast off her widow's black for one day.

_Last night had not exactly been traditional_, she thought to herself wryly as she brushed out the riotous dark curls and pinned up her hair. Feeling ready to face the world, she left the bedroom.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee invaded her nostrils as she entered the main room. A small table in the corner had been set for two people. Meg was absent, but she could hear her voice ring out from the kitchen as she softly sang to herself. It took Christine back to when they were children and the opera house dorms had been their playground.

_Life had been so much less complicated then. She could still remember with perfect clarity the very first time that Erik had spoken to her. It had been in the middle of the night. She had been unable to sleep and had crept down to the chapel to pray, hoping that her father would hear her in heaven. As usual, she had only been greeted by silence._

"_Father, you promised to send the angel of music…you have been gone for almost six months….I cannot believe any more," She had collapsed on the floor sobbing with grief for her father, when a beautiful voice had broke through the sound of her sobs._

_He had been gruff, yet commanding, telling her to dry her tears and to get up from the floor. She had responded to his instructions, wiping away her tears and begging him to speak to her again. He had rewarded her, by singing a song, a child's lullaby. She knew then that he must be the angel her father had promised_.

Although time had proved him no more than a man, he had been her guardian angel in more ways than she could count. Christine was broken out of her dreamy reverie by the plate of fresh rolls that was slammed down on the table.

"Good morning Christine. I hope you slept well," said Meg, an eyebrow arched as she looked at her.

Christine flushed. "Very well thank you,"

Meg disappeared back into the kitchen, to return moments later with a coffee pot. She sat at the table and poured them both a cup. Christine studied her friend's face. "Is there something troubling you?" she asked her.

"Nothing wrong with me, I am just fine. Best eat up; the carriage will be here soon. You do not want to audition on an empty stomach, now do you?" asked Meg as she drank down the rest of her coffee and left the table to find her bonnet and cape.

Christine pushed her plate away untouched, and got up from the table to ready herself. A few moments later, a knock sounded on the door and the two women went downstairs to answer it. Before Meg opened the door, she glanced at Christine. Her friend's hands were shaking.

She smiled at her in understanding. Her concerns for Christine's behaviour pushed aside as she took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"You will walk it Christine. You were meant to shine," said Meg, before she kissed her cheek and they opened the door and walked out into the warm spring sunshine.

_Oh, but where was Erik? She needed him there; surely, he would not desert her now_? Christine sighed as she stepped into the carriage, followed by Meg. With a tap on the roof, they were on their way to the Opera Populaire.

TBC


	9. I've Decided

**A/N Thank you to everyone for their condolences on our family's loss and for your continued patience for the next chapter. If anyone is a fan of more adult material. I wrote a one shot Poto fic over at adult called "Don Juan Triumphs" I have the same user name over there.**

I've Decided

An hour earlier

It had been with deep regret that Erik had left her side that morning. If he were honest with himself, he had been afraid that she would awaken and lament what had passed between them in the cold light of day. When he had gone to see her the night before, it had not been his intention to bed her. However, as any starving man when faced with a banquet he had been unable to resist, taking his fill of what she offered. He had watched her sleep for a long time before he had allowed himself to join her. She looked younger while she slept in his arms, some of the faint lines around her eyes, erased. He could almost imagine her to still be the young woman of so long ago. She would look stunning, even when old. Erik knew he wanted to be around to see those changes.

A slight smile had graced her mouth. He had been unable to resist tracing those lips, swollen from his kisses. He now knew what it was to make love; it was more heady and satisfying than those meaningless few encounters of so long ago. She was a generous lover. He could not wait to lie with her again and his body hardened at the thought. Erik had finally dragged himself away from her side, saving to his memories; the wonder in her face as they had rode the waves of their passion together. He would wager that her husband had never wrought such feeling from her. His heart contracted with jealousy at the thought of Raoul. He knew it was foolishness to be resentful of a dead man. _She was his now. She would never be anyone else's, not unless they wished to face an untimely end._

Christine had responded so sweetly to him, even now her soft sighs and whispers rang in his ears. She had not told him that she loved him. He did not want to hear those words from her…not yet. He was not experienced in the complexities of relationships. In that area she had the advantage over him, but he wanted to learn and for her to teach him. He smiled to himself; the master had become the pupil in an unimagined reversal of roles.

He had quietly slipped out of Meg's apartment and had hailed a passing hansom cab. He had got in with one last glance at the building before he had settled into the seat in deep contemplation.

There was still so much that he did not understand about the intricacies of affairs of the heart. It was all new to him, having avoided all contact with others unless necessary. That would all have to change if he were to see to the running of the Metropolitan. It would bring him into the company of people that would point at him and women who would whisper behind their fans. Stranger's reactions were not new to him, but somehow the idea that Christine would be there too, made it much easier to bear. He knew he was being presumptive in thinking she would willingly take a position at the Opera house, but it was his dearest hope.

As the carriage arrived at the Opera Populaire he was greeted by Andre and Firmin. Erik almost wondered if they had some kind of sixth sense, but dismissed them both for the bumbling fools that he knew they were when he remembered that he had told them to expect him at 8:30 that morning. He took the gold pocket watch from his pocket and smiled. In half an hour, Christine would be here.

"Good morning gentlemen," Erik said.

Andre and Firmin were taken aback by the genuine smile he gave them. They looked at each other in confusion as they followed him into the interior of the opera house. They turned to look back at Erik, both of them startled to find him nowhere in sight.

"Hhhmpf! I hate it when he does that," said Andre in indignation.

"There must still be a secret passage or two about,"

"Poppycock! We had them all walled up during the restoration!" said Andre as he stormed off back to his office.

* * *

Erik could hear them both debating his disappearance from within one of the pillars. _They had not been as clever at they had thought, as most of his original modifications were still in existence_. He turned and walked down the passageway. It was in much the same condition as the one that led in from the stables. He cut a path through the cobwebs with the top of his cane, grimacing in distaste. _The years of luxury had made him soft _ he thought to himself.

When he reached the end of the passage, he came to a door and turned its handle. It groaned on rusty hinges as he swung it open. He took the steps down to his old lair, navigating the traps he had set, remembering them as if it were only yesterday in his memory. One wrong step could be the death of him or anyone else that had been foolish enough to venture to the lower levels. This visit would not take long, Erik knew what he sought and he wanted be seated in the shadows of the theatre in good time to see Christine's performance.

Erik entered the old chamber that had once been his creative domain. He did not want to linger here any longer than necessary. It held too many sad memories for him. He knelt down by the side of the swan bed. The mattress had long since crumpled to dust in the damp conditions and neglect. By the looks of the place the only creatures brave enough to come here had been of the rodent kind. He felt underneath for the secret compartment that held his works. The box was still there. He brought it out from under the bed, brushing off the dust from it.

He opened it, his scores were yellowed from age, but at least they were still intact. The song that he prized above all others was laying on top of a thick wad of score sheets. Christine's song, as he had simply titled it. He had once harboured dreams of singing it to her, but the chance had never presented its self.

He read the notes and hummed the melody under his breath, although the song was still fresh in his mind anyway. He rolled it up and tied it with a piece of string. Taking one last glance at his home, he noticed the monkey music box, still sitting where he had left it. He walked over to it and picked it up, turning the key, surprised to find that it still worked.

The notes echoed through the chamber as he replaced it. He checked his watch again. There was only ten minutes left until Christine would be arriving for the audition. He dusted off his gloves and made his way back up to the ground level of the opera house.

* * *

The carriage pulled up outside the Opera Populaire. Meg began to get out, when Christine put a hand on her friend's arm.

"What is it now Christine? I thought I had told you that all will be well," sighed Meg.

"I know, but this is a big step for me. Last time I sang on a stage I was with the Phantom,"

"You are disappointed he is not here?" Asked Meg.

"Every note I have ever sung has been with him near me…after last night I had hoped…"

"And what happened last night?"

Christine blushed "Nothing…nothing at all. I am going to be late for my audition and that's not the sort of impression I wish to make,"

Meg sighed in frustration as she got out of the carriage followed by her friend. Christine gazed up at the exterior of the building as a lot of old memories came back to her. Memories of long nights spent with Erik and days with Raoul. _Should she feel guilty for thinking the nights that little more exciting?_

Meg took her arm and led her into the foyer. Christine glanced around nervously at her surroundings. She sensed Erik's presence behind her before he even made himself known. It gave her precious seconds to compose herself and calm the irregular beating of her heart. Nothing could be done about the high colour, which she was sure, stained her cheeks. She took a deep breath and turned around to face him.

"Christine what are you…oh!" exclaimed Meg as she turned and saw what or exactly whom had distracted her friend. "I will see you backstage. Do you remember your way to the dressing rooms?"

Christine looked at Erik, her heart in her mouth as she studied his face. Meg's words hardly registered as she mumbled some sort of response and Meg walked away.

"Christine," the one solitary word spoke volumes to her.

She held out her hand to him, not knowing what to say after the night of passion they had shared. Erik took her hand, removed her glove, and bent over it, his lips touching the sensitive skin. Christine flinched in shock as she felt the tip of his tongue as he kissed her hand. He raised his head to look up at her with a devilish grin on his face.

He took her hand, placed it on his arm, as they walked along together.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"Why to your dressing room of course,"

"Someone might see. It's not proper," she whispered.

"And you still worry about propriety after last night?" he drawled incredulously.

"If you had a shred of decency in you wouldn't mention that," she said looking away, her nose in the air.

Erik bent down until he was at the level of her ear. "The fact that I am indecent is what gets you so hot for me,"

He smirked at her outraged expression and continued to lead her to the dressing room. Once inside the room he drew her into his arms before she had a chance to protest. Christine was soon caught up in the fierce demands of his lips against hers as his tongue gained entrance to her mouth. Her arms wound around his neck, her cry of surprise lost in his mouth as he lifted her up against the door and pulled up her skirts.

"We cannot, there is not time!" she protested half-heartedly.

"Christine I need you. I did not mean for things to go that far between us last night, but after what we shared I find I want you more than ever,"

She smiled sadly at him and nodded her head. She wanted him just as badly, and there was no use in denying it. Now that Christine knew what it was to be loved by him, she needed him too.

What aroused her was the spontaneity of their lovemaking. With Raoul, every thing had had to have order including their marital relations. He had never strayed from that pattern except on their wedding night. All thoughts of Raoul were quickly forced from her mind as Erik began to move inside her. She wrapped her legs around him to hold on. Erik buried his face in the valley of her breasts just visible above the neckline of her dress.

"More," she whispered. Shocked at herself as her thoughts spilled onto her tongue and she voiced them.

Erik looked up at her. She could tell he had been a little taken aback at her request.

"Your wish is my command," he groaned.

He smiled to himself as her eyes closed with the pleasure he was giving her. They were both so close to the edge. There was no time for the leisurely loving of the night before. Christine cried out, quickly muffling her cries in his shoulder. Moments later Erik joined her.

The only sound in the room was their laboured breathing, as Erik lowered her to the floor. She held onto him, afraid if she let go she would fall at his feet. He held her away from him a little to give them both a chance to straighten their disordered clothing.

He bent his head to kiss her gently, and pulled her to him and holding her as if he would never let her go. After a couple of moments, he reluctantly released her.

"I am sorry," he sighed.

"For what?" she asked in confusion.

"That I was not more tender for you," Seeing her again in the foyer had unleashed something almost primal in him.

Christine searched his face. "Erik I am no longer a child of sixteen, I am a grown woman and I wanted it just as much as you. Do you not know…since you came back… all these weeks…that I have felt more alive than I have felt in a long long time?"

Erik crushed her to him once more and kissed her soundly, before smiling down at her ruefully. "Thank you for that,"

Christine groaned. "I must look a mess! I am late for my audition! I just know it," she said beginning to panic.

It was then that Erik felt a sharp pang of regret for what he had done. Maybe she would have come with him to America with no questions asked. He cursed himself for his deception. It was no longer an option. _He should have had more faith in her. Hadn't he done that before and still she had left him for Raoul anyway. _ He hardened his heart against the alien emotion and moved away.

"Andre and Firmin will wait for you,"

Christine frowned as something occurred to her. "What are you doing here? Do Andre and Firmin know? You shouldn't have risked it; they could call the police on you,"

"I will hide in the shadows as I always do. No one will even know I am here except for yourself and Meg. Thank you for your concern nonetheless. I must go and take my place,"

Christine examined her face in the mirror. A couple of curls had escaped their pins. She re-pinned her hair and turned around, surprised to find the room empty, but for herself.

"Knowing that you will be with me means more than you know," she said quietly.

* * *

It was with leaden steps that the Phantom made his way to box five. The feeling of guilt, which had settled in his breast, was tearing him apart. He could tell her, but he knew that if he did he could lose all chance of being with her forever, he sighed. Just because they had made love a few times, did not obligate her to come with him to the states when he returned, and return he must. A harassed looking Andre intercepted him on the stairs, here was his chance to end all of this before it began, but as he regarded the manager, he remained silent.

"Where is Miss Daae?" Andre asked.

"Madame De Chagny will be along shortly," Erik replied.

"It is a good job we are not hiring her. If there is anything I cannot stand, it is unpunctuality," he muttered, walking off.

Erik slipped into box five and repositioned the chair to keep his presence concealed. Not long after, Christine appeared on stage. She looked nervously at Andre and Firmin and then nodded to the pianist that waited in the orchestra pit for her signal.

Christine opened her mouth to sing, the first few notes came out shaky and reedy. She glanced up at box five, searching for him in the gloom. He came out of the shadows for a moment, to let her know that he was there. She smiled and turned back to face the managers.

Erik sat there in the darkness, spellbound by her performance. She would take New York by storm. Her voice seemed stronger than he remembered; it had a renewed passion that had not been present last night, not even when she had sung in his arms.

As the last notes died away, she glanced up at where he sat, giving a little bow before facing the managers. Andre clapped enthusiastically until Firmin slapped him hard on the back, almost knocking the cigar from his mouth.

"A little less enthusiasm," hissed Firmin in his ear.

Andre paled looking around the theatre nervously, before folding his arms across his chest. "Very well done Miss Daae…er I mean Madame De Chagny, however it is with great regret to inform you that we are not presently hiring any principle singers. There is only opening for chorus girls and I think you know the pay is not substantial,"

Christine felt the tears spring to her eyes as she looked at the managers. She would not give into the urge to cry, instead she felt a white-hot anger build up inside of her. Nevertheless, with a ragged breath she kept the disappointment in.

Meg came marching out of the wings to join her friend, on stage, her expression thunderous as she glared at her employers.

"Then why even let her audition?"

"We had news that there is a problem with funding for the next season which precludes us being able to justify the expense of a new addition to the corps. The letter had only arrived a moment ago, I did not know how to tell you," replied Firmin quietly.

Meg turned back to face Christine. "I am so sorry…" She stopped mid-sentence as she saw that the place Christine had been occupying was empty.

* * *

Christine ran through the maze of back stage passages, until she came to a familiar set of steps and ran down them, the tears streaming down her face. She sank to the cold stone floor, as she stared up at the altar before her. The chapel was still the cold silent place she remembered it to be. She lit a candle and sat back to watch the tiny flame as it flickered in its holder.

She wiped away her tears, surprised as a clean white square of embroidered cotton, with the initials ED on its corner, was thrust in front of her face. Christine took it gratefully and struggled to get up. Erik put out a hand to help her to feet and led her over to the window seat in the corner. Seeing her so distressed was almost moving him to tears. He had been so wrong, he knew that now, and he could _never_ tell her. Whatever she felt for him, he doubted she would be able to forgive him.

He pulled her into his arms and held her in the reverent silence of the little chapel. Several minutes has passed without either of them speaking, before he finally lifted her head up so he could look at her face.

"Christine, I may be able to help you…"

"How?" she asked.

"I am not without means or influence. While I have been living in America, I invested what money I am a wealthy man. I have an important position at a newly built opera house in New York,"

Christine looked at him, stunned by his revelations.

"What exactly are you saying? That you have a position for me at your opera house?"

Erik smiled at her. "It only part mine, an eighth in fact, but I am the manager and have control over who is hired,"

Christine got up from the window seat and looked down at him. "I will not be anyone's charity case,"

He sighed; she always had had an underlying stubborn streak. When he had tutored her as a young girl, she would often sulk if he were harsh with her, whilst trying only to bring the best out in her voice he had often seen it.

"You would not be anyone's _charity case. _You will be paid a wage like anyone else and no more or less than that. You will have to audition like anyone else too,"

"But to leave France and start a new life so far from…"

"From Raoul?" He asked harshly. "He is dead Christine…do not bury yourself with him. This is a new chance for you. However, I will not force you," He cringed inwardly at his choice of words, for he knew he already had left her little or no options. "I must sail for New York on Friday. I can purchase tickets for you and anyone else you would wish to accompany you. I leave the decision entirely up to you,"

With that, he strode from the chapel, leaving her in contemplative silence. Christine was so caught up in her chaotic thoughts that she did not even realise that he was gone.

"Yes…the answer is yes," she said. As she turned and saw she was alone, her shoulders sagged and she sat back down.

Erik was on the top step when he heard her softly spoken words. He closed his eyes for a moment and thanked whatever forces were at work, that for once in her life she had been decisive. He turned on the step and walked back down to her. He found her sitting by the stained glass window again. The sunlight streamed through the coloured glass, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Erik's heart contracted with the strength of his feelings as he studied her profile.

Christine turned around, and saw him standing there. She got up from the seat, ran to him, and wrapped her arms about him. "I will go to New York with you and sing at your opera house," she sighed resting her head on his shoulder.

TBC


	10. Remembering

**A/N I have called Madame Giry Angelique in my story, although I have seen other names used. The opera mentioned in this chapter is what is now known as Don Carlo, in the 1880's period it was known as Don Carlos. There's a useless but of trivia for you. This is my last update for a while. I worked to get this finished as I fly off to California tomorrow for a holiday**

Remembering

Chapter 9

Madame Giry had watched Christine's audition from the back of the theatre. Her charge had grown in her talent, which surprised her considering the neglect she knew her voice had suffered during her marriage to the Vicomte. Mme Giry had liked Raoul, but he had seemed to wrap Christine in cotton wool, not wanting her to be touched by the world. The animation in her face as she had sung her heart out had been evident. She belonged on the stage, performing was in her blood.

She sighed heavily, the weight of having heard the conversation between Andre and Erik was still ringing in her ears. At first, she had been too shocked to see the manager talking to Erik without his having an apoplexy in his presence. It had soon become apparent that they were plotting something involving Christine.

All she had managed to glean from the few words that had passed between them was that Christine was doomed to fail before she started. To what ends Erik wanted her be unsuccessful was still a mystery to her. All these years, Madame Giry realised it had been the keeping of secrets that she'd missed the least. There had been thirteen years of nothing to hide, but with a few spoken words that had all changed and she was back to keeping Erik's secrets once more. She loved Christine like a daughter, but Erik was hers in a different way altogether. She had made him her responsibility from the moment she had saved him from the mob that had chased them through the streets of Paris.

She shook her head sadly, would Erik never learn? He had used clever tricks to try to get his own way last time. Christine was going to be implacable if she found out his lies. However, she would not find out from her. Too long had she been protecting Erik to change her ways now. She turned and made her way back to the dorms. The young girls had been without a ballet mistress for too long and it was obvious that they had run rings around Collette during her absence.

As she made her way across the polished floor of the foyer, she was surprised to see Erik striding towards her.

"Where is Christine?" she asked him.

"She left her purse in the dressing room. She will be with us presently, I am to hail a carriage for us to return to Meg's apartment," He informed her.

"A word if you please before you leave Erik," said Madame Giry.

"Make it quick," he said, a slight edge of irritation creeping into his voice.

"What was your conversation with Firmin all about?" she asked, getting straight to the bones of the matter.

"So you heard us?" Erik smiled dryly. "You were almost as adept as I for creeping around this pile of bricks. I had forgotten that,"

"When you are in charge of so many girls, it helps to have eyes in the back of your head. Still you digress," Madame Giry tapped her cane impatiently on the marble floor.

"You know I have made good in America Madame, I have only helped fate along. Christine is to accompany me to the states where she shall be the principle singer at my opera house,"

Madame Giry looked him up and down. "What exactly do you mean by your opera house?"

"I part own the new Metropolitan opera house in New York. Maybe you have heard of it?"

Madame Giry nodded and Erik continued.

"My days as an opera ghost are long since past. I have found a place in the world for one like me. I will take care of Christine with my life if needs be. Her heart is safe with me,"

"What of her virtue?"

"She is a mature widow of twenty nine years. Quite old enough to make her own decisions,"

"Except, for the decisions that you made for her?"

"Touché Angelique. One thing is for certain, your tongue has not softened with time,"

"And you are right, she is no longer a girl, but when my husband died I did a few things of which I am ashamed."

Erik arched an eyebrow trying to imagine what this woman as starched as her black dress could possibly mean. He sighed as he looked upon his rescuer. It was very hard to forget that he owed this woman his very life and she had been the first person to show him any human kindness. Although, at times he had wished that she had left him to his fate.

"Tell her Erik, or lose her," Madame Giry said warningly.

"I will tell her the truth I promise, but not until we are in America. I lost her once; I could not do it twice. Try to understand," he asked.

"Christine," said Madame Giry as she watched the woman approach them.

"Erik?" came a voice behind him.

He shook off his thoughts as he watched Christine walk across the foyer. A radiant smile graced her face, her tears long since dried. Madame Giry did not miss the passion that lit Erik's eyes or the returned warmth in Christine's as they looked at each other.

"The carriage should be waiting for us Christine, best leave before we are seen by the managers. Good day Madame." He nodded at Mme Giry, before leading Christine away.

She watched the lovers walk off together out into the daylight. Madame Giry stood alone in the doorway for several moments in contemplative silence before she left to go about her duties.

* * *

**Two Days Later**

"So you are to leave us once more?" sighed Meg. "Just when I had hoped we could renew our friendship. I do not begrudge you this chance Christine. I think there are too many ghosts for you in Paris now. I meant that figuratively by the way," she smiled ruefully, glancing at her friend as she sat across from her at the dining table.

"Hmmm," replied Christine vaguely.

"You have been in another world these past few days. Won't you at least tell me why?"

Christine looked at Meg and blushed. "You might judge me. I have done something of which I ought to be ashamed, but I find that I am not. Does that make me brazen?"

Meg smiled. "Well that depends on the nature of the matter. You haven't killed anyone or robbed Lazard's?"

"No…I…I…we…"

"Come on Christine just say it. I promise you that you will feel better when you do,"

Christine took a deep breath. "Erik and I are lovers,"

Meg chuckled.

"Well aren't you shocked?" asked Christine, finding no humour in the situation.

"I might be if it were not for the other night. Luc and I came home early. We saw you,"

Christine's face flushed almost scarlet. "You saw us…"

"Calm down. You were sleeping at the time, nothing more."

"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Christine.

"I knew you would tell me when you were ready. Meg's face turned serious. "Are you sure that you are doing the right thing?"

"Do you mean my relationship with Erik or the move to another country?"

"A little of both maybe…Christine the attraction between yourself and the Phantom has always been a strong one, but you are still grieving."

Christine looked at Meg sadly. "I cannot explain it to you, but being with Erik…it just felt so right. I loved Raoul, you know that, but to my shame, Erik was never far from my thoughts during our marriage. Even though I believed him dead, it was as if he was still with me, like a part of my soul. A connection that strong, so internal, even death cannot break it. I was a young girl back then. If I knew then what I know and understand now, I might have chosen a different path. However, Erik took the choice for me and demanded that I leave him that night beneath the opera house. For whatever reason, fate has dealt us both a second chance."

Meg smiled, reassured by Christine's words. "Then I wish you both happy,"

"Thank you Meg, your approval means a lot to me as well as your good opinion. In answer to the second part of your question…well there is nothing here for me anymore, except you and Mother Giry. As dear as you both are to me, you have your own lives to lead."

"I have always been a little envious of you Christine," admitted Meg on a sigh.

"How so?" she asked in surprise.

"You have had two men that would die for you. I don't seem to bring out the chivalrous side in my men."

"What about Luc? He seems very much taken with you,"

"He doesn't want marriage. When that time comes, his father will provide a suitable young wife. I am too long in the tooth."

"Don't be so ridiculous you still look no more than twenty!"

Meg laughed. "That may be, but my girlhood dreams are still starting to fade around the edges a little now,"

"Then why don't come with me to America? Your mother could come too," said Christine.

"Oh, no I couldn't, we couldn't,"

Christine got up from the table, walked over to Meg, and took her hands in her own. "What's stopping you? You said yourself there is little to hold you here. Erik has offered to pay passage for me and anyone else I wish to take with me. Maybe you will find what you are looking for there. Take a chance Meg,"

"I don't know. I need to think about it…there is Maman to consider. Oh hang it, I have had enough of being rich men's playthings…I'll go!"

Christine pulled Meg to her feet and caught her in a tight embrace. They pulled apart, both of them their eyes shining with tears.

"I will ask Erik if the position of ballet mistress has been filled yet before you talk to your mother. Do you think she will come with us?"

"Oh, once mother knows I am to go to New York she will insist on coming, just to keep an eye on me," laughed Meg.

"I am to have all my family with me," said Christine. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and frowned. "Oh I mustn't make a mess of myself; Erik is calling to take me to the opera tonight. He assures me that he got an agent to buy our seats and that if we arrive in plenty of time, he will avoid detection,"

Meg frowned at her words.

"This reminds me, there is something I need to tell you…" The clock on the hearth struck the hour. Meg looked at Christine horrified, all thoughts of what she had wanted to say, fleeing from her mind. "I will be late for rehearsals!"

"Best hurry then would not want Andre to have a seizure," said Christine, as she walked off to her bedroom. "And do not worry about me Meg. Having any kind of relationship with Erik that is conducted above ground has to be of the good," she threw a grin over her shoulder before closing the bedroom door behind her.

* * *

The lights were lowered and the audience was almost silent in its anticipation. All Christine could think of was the man seated beside her. She could see the long un-gloved fingers of his hand as it rested on his thigh. She yearned to touch it, almost moving to do so several times, but the moment was lost as the orchestra started up and the opening strains of Verdi's opera Don Carlos began.

She was curious to see Meg perform on the stage as Eboli the unrequited would be lover. The lead female role of Elisabetta Valois, being played by someone from Italy with whom she was not familiar. It was a role that she would dearly love to play herself. Maybe one day she might get that chance now. Trips to the theatre with Raoul had been an ironic scarcity, considering he had remained its patron. However, she had not blamed him, as the opera house was not exactly full of happy memories. Christine had been looking forward to this more than she realised as her heart leapt in her breast as the opera began.

Erik was watching Christine unobserved. The opera dulled in comparison, when compared to the emotions that played across her beautiful face. He drew a ragged breath. The feelings she aroused in him almost made him lose control whenever he was around her. Here he was at the age of 41 and still like a young schoolboy in the grip of his first infatuation. So many years had he been building walls to try to keep out the hurt, but they all crumbled to dust the moment he had seen her again in the hallway of her dead husband's home.

The magic of the performance wove its spell around her as she became caught up in it, but no so much that she missed Erik's touch as he wrapped one of his large hands around one of her impossibly tiny ones that lay in her lap. He squeezed her hand and she returned the pressure, glancing at him briefly with a warm smile, before she returned her attention to the stage.

Even with her eyes on the sad love story as it unfolded, it could not hold her attention like the feel of his warm hand. He had begun to trace lazy circles in the inner flesh of her palm and suddenly the theatre felt very hot to her. She was glad of the darkness to hide her heated cheeks.

The evening had been a success and it gave her hope that she could have a normal future with him warmed her. He had been polite and courteous in his manner. She could almost believe the desperate lover of two days ago that had taken her against the dressing room door was nothing, but a figment of her imagination. It was only as they stepped into the carriage together and the door was closed behind them both, that he pulled her into his arms so she was sitting on his lap. Erik then lowered his head and kissed her hard on the lips.

Christine responded to his kisses with equal fervour, pulling back to rest her forehead on his. They both sat like that for several minutes, with only the gentle rocking of the carriage to lull them.

"Happy?" he asked.

Christine lifted her head to look at him, giving Erik such a smile of pure brilliance. He could not doubt the sincerity of the emotion that he read in her eyes. He also caught the shadow that she quickly struggled to hide.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Raoul…I was his wife for 13 years and he has hardly grown cold in his grave. Is it wrong to feel this happy?"

"No, if he truly loved you as I know he did, Raoul would want your happiness above all else. I would not have given you up to anyone that felt less than that."

Christine looked at him. "Like you did? Is that why you let me go that night?" she asked.

"What choice did I have Christine? I knew you had feelings for the both of us. I had to be content with that and let you leave with Raoul."

Christine pulled off one of her gloves to stroke his cheek.

"Were the years very lonely?" she asked.

Unshed tears glittered in his eyes, illuminated by the carriage lamps. He looked away, not wanting her to see. Christine rested her head against his chest.

"You are not alone anymore."

He ran his hands over her back, pulling her against him tighter; he would never let her go again.

* * *

"Well," said Meg as she looked around her apartment. "The carriage will be here any moment. How do you feel?"

"Terrified, excited, wondering how I will cope in a strange country."

"Now aren't you glad that mama insisted on those tedious English lessons when we were girls?"

"I can hardly remember them except for a few phrases here and there."

"Don't worry I am sure Erik will be willing to teach you," smirked Meg.

Christine blushed, sure that another meaning entirely was behind Meg's words. Before she could respond, there was a sharp rap at the door.

"That will be your mother no doubt,"

Meg looked at her sadly. "I know I am a grown woman, but I shall miss her until she can join us in New York," she sighed.

"It will only be a month. As it is Andre and Firmin were not pleased to lose you, we cannot deprive them of their ballet mistress too. At least until they have found a suitable replacement. How did Luc take the news?" asked Christine.

"He asked me to marry him you know,"

"Luc?"

"Yes, but he is like any child when faced with losing his favourite toy. I will not be wed to man who uses it as a means to keep me here for his own self. He never offered it before when he thought I would not be going anywhere. He will get over me,"

"He could really love you Meg. Have you thought of that possibility?"

Someone banged on the door again, only louder this time. Meg was secretly glad of the distraction it brought.

"You had better get that. I have to go and make sure everything is in order,"

"Good, the sooner we get out of Paris the better. I have been terrified that someone would know who Erik was and report him to the police." Said Christine as she lifted her skirts to ease her way down the stairs.

Madame Giry was about to use her key by the time Christine had opened the door. Erik was standing next to her, the impatience evident in the way he barged through the open door. She was a little surprised by the ferocity of his actions as he pulled her into his arms and searched her face.

"Wh-what is it?" she asked. "Has something happened?"

Erik took a few steadying breaths. Not caring that Madame Giry stood behind them, he lowered his head to kiss her before pulling back to look at her.

"I thought you had changed your mind."

"Never," she replied resting her head against his chin.

Madame Giry brushed past them. "Excuse me," she said curtly on her way up the stairs.

Christine could not help the girlish giggle that escaped her lips. "I don't think she approves,"

"She does. If Angelique did not, then the very heavens would shake,"

"True,"

"Everything ready?"

"My trunk has been packed for a couple of days now,"

"Good, come and sit with me in the carriage while the men load them up,"

Christine took his hand and he led her out to the carriage. She turned and gave once last glance at Meg's lodgings before allowing Erik to help her into it. Meg and her mother joined them soon after.

* * *

**Cherbourg: France: Two days Later**

Night was closing in. The salty scent of the sea was strong in her nostrils as she stood by the railing. Erik stood closely behind her, his cape enveloping the both of them, shielding her from the harsh bite of the spring evening air. Beneath the warm material, he was doing delicious things with her body that would have shocked any onlooker to the core. In other circumstances, Christine would have put up a token resistance.

However, Erik had been clever, knowing that she could not pretend to be outraged, without drawing attention to them. She felt, warm, loved and safe in the protective circle of his arms. Christine looked around her to see if anyone had noticed, but thankfully, most of the people on the first class passenger's deck were too pre-occupied in their own thoughts.

Meg stood next to the both of them, wiping at her eyes with Erik's borrowed handkerchief. Madame Giry watched from the quay, hemmed in by other weeping families and friends as they wished their loved ones goodbye. She held her back ramrod straight, trying to keep her legendary composure as she waited for the boat to take her only child away to a strange land.

The ship began to move from the dock, and Meg's tears increased as she openly sobbed into the handkerchief. Christine gently removed Erik's large hands, which had been resting on her breasts beneath his cloak, took her friend into her arms and held her. She watched Madame Giry over her shoulder. She turned and walked away, but not before, Christine noticed the distress on her face.

She sighed. Maybe she had been selfish to part mother and daughter, but it was not as if it was a permanent arrangement. Madame Giry would be joining them shortly. Meg was a grown woman and more than able to handle it. Barely five minutes had passed before she was back to her cheerful self, declaring that she was going to see what delights the dining room held.

Christine had thought the decision to leave had been more tact driven to give the two lovers some privacy. She would catch up with Meg later in their huge cabin, which was bigger than the apartment they had been sharing. Erik had booked the stateroom next to theirs. The thought that he was so nearby pleased her.

She took his hand; they watched the disappearing coastline together. Christine rested her head on his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips to be carried away on the sea air.

"What is it my love?" he asked, sensing her melancholy mood.

"I fear I shall never see France again," she replied.

"And that makes you sad?"

"Both happy and sad,"

Erik reached into his cloak to take something from it. Christine turned to see what it was, surprised at the posy of forget-me-nots that he held in his hand. She paled.

"It was you…the day of my wedding. I thought there had been some mistake at the florists. You gave me the forget-me-nots. I should be angry knowing you were there and did not show yourself,"

"It was the only way I could tell you that I would never forget you Christine without causing you fresh pain. Above all else I wanted your happiness, that's all I ever wanted for you,"

"Why give me these now?" she asked.

"Because I saw your face on the journey here, at times when you thought no one was watching. I am not such an insensitive brute that I think I can replace Raoul in a matter of a few days. I will leave you alone to say your farewells Christine. I will be in my cabin if you need me,"

He kissed her hand and walked away. She studied him until he disappeared around the corner. Christine turned back to face the railing, a sharp breeze caught at her hair whipping it into her face. She brushed it away and looked down at the flowers which she held in her hand.

"Goodbye Raoul…you will always be in my heart. I have found Erik again. He is a changed man. I think I can be happy with him. Please do not hate me wherever you are. Thank you for thirteen wonderful years…be at peace. I will never forget,"

Christine threw the flowers into the sea. They looked so lonely bobbing on the waves. She watched them for a moment before walking away to go in search of the man that had been a part of her life in one way or another for as long as she could remember. She needed to tell him that she did indeed need him and that she would always need him.

TBC


	11. Welcome to the New World

**A/N What I have mentioned of NY is from research only, as I have never been there, unless JFK airport counts lol. SO if there are any glaring errors feel free to tell me what they are so I can correct them. Him holding nothing but the rose in the bedroom scene was inspired by a bit of fanart I found over at deviant art. Also, this chapter has had to take a lot of butchering so it isnt as graphic as it originally was. If you want to read it in its full glory you can find it at aria.  
**

Forget me not

Chapter 10

A great weight had been lifted from Christine's heart. After she had dried her tears, she made her way back to Erik's cabin. Before she did so, she looked in on Meg in their own berth. She was fast asleep so Christine quietly closed the door on her and proceeded to the next cabin, careful to make sure that she was not seen as she gently knocked on the door. Even on a passenger ship, there were moral codes one had to bypass. If anyone even so much as saw her enter Erik's cabin, she would be ruined socially. Even she could not ignore that.

There was no sound from within, and thinking that maybe he had retired for the evening, she turned to leave. She felt the rush of air as the door opened behind her and a strong hand rested on her shoulder. Christine turned around to face him. There was a suspicious wetness on his face as he looked at her before taking her in his arms and crushing her to him.

"I do need you Erik…only you," she whispered against the fine cloth of his jacket.

He pulled away from her to read her face. Satisfied with what he saw there, he lowered his head to kiss her lips deeply. Christine pressed herself against him. Her hands slipped inside his coat, drawing the warmth from his body as he led her inside the cabin and closed the door behind them.

The room was softly lit with candles and was as luxurious as any high-class hotel room. If it were not for the gentle hum of the engines, it would be hard to believe that they were at sea. She was surprised that instead of walking her over to the bed, he deposited her on the comfortable settee next to it. She hid her disappointment quickly, although not quick enough for the Phantom to miss it. He smiled to himself as he retrieved a bottle of champagne as it cooled in the ice bucket. Erik poured it slowly into two delicate flutes before handing her a glass.

"What's the occasion she asked?"

He took his place next to her on the sofa and turned to face her. He held up the glass.

"To your new life…may it be filled with success, happiness and love."

The breath caught in her throat at his last words, as she clinked glasses with him with a shaky hand. She did not usually take strong drink, and after only a couple of sips, she felt slightly light-headed. She watched Erik as he drank down the remainder of his glass and replaced it on the table. Christine followed suit, wishing she had not as a slight giddiness came over her.

He turned back to face her, she noticed a drop of champagne glistening on his lips and she had the sudden urge to lick it off. Before she could allow reason to take over, she leaned across and darted the tip of her tongue over his slightly parted lips, smiling to herself at his tiny sound of shocked pleasure.

Not sure if it were the drink or her own desires taking over her, she then got up from her seat to sit on his lap. Erik's hands rested on her shoulders before sliding down her form to settle on her hips. It pleased him greatly that she had instigated their lovemaking, but he was not going to let her have all the control as he slid his hand under her to pick her up in his arms and carry her over to the middle of the room.

Instead of depositing her on its surface, he lowered her to the floor until her feet touched carpet again. He pulled all the pins from her hair, which held up her elaborate hairstyle, running his fingers through the freed locks of hair. She sighed at the pleasurable feel of his long fingers as they rested at her throat before popping a button on her high-necked black mourning dress. He touched the pulse he could feel beating at the base of her neck, smiling as he felt it accelerate.

"There, that's how I always want to remember you…free and alive and your eyes warm with desire…for me."

She smiled at him, watched as he tilted his head to listen to the faint strains of music coming from the first class lounge upstairs. He slipped a hand around her waist and rested the other one on her shoulder.

"Dance with me Christine?"

She nodded, unable to speak. Christine drew in a breath as he pressed her close to his hard body, as they slowly danced a sensual variation of the waltz, the shocking dance, which had once been labelled the forbidden dance. She was sure she read somewhere that when danced, the partners were supposed to be able to fit a bible between them to at least retain propriety. Christine almost giggled aloud at the thought. She could now understand why some of the older matrons had been outraged by its introduction, as she felt every curve of him pressed against her.

They danced around the room, to the strains of Mozart until the music stopped, as they were only inches from the bed. They held each other, both breathless in the silence of the room.

"Erik,"

Christine looked at him with pleading eyes, before he lowered his head and nibbled at her lower lip. She felt the heat travel from her lips and through her body. Her hands crept up to his face, as she touched his cheek. The mask fell from his face into her hand. He flinched a little, still not comfortable in exposing what he had spent a lifetime concealing. Christine smiled and pressed her lips on the marred flesh, raining kisses on it as if willing her touch to heal him, not on the outside, but the inside… and his bruised soul.

She slipped the jacket from his shoulders and ran her hands over the fine material of his shirt. Erik began to undress, and she followed suit. She turned around so that he could free the laces of her corset. It was several moments before she felt his hand go to the ties. Christine faced him wearing nothing but her chemise. She blushed as her eyes travelled over his perfect naked form, now knowing the reason for his delay in undressing her and as she looked into his eyes, she knew he had stripped off the remainder of his garments to illicit that exact response from her.

He pulled her onto the bed with him, both falling onto it with in a tangle of limbs, which ended up with her being on atop him. Erik smiled at her, looking much younger than his age. The very happiness on his face seemingly had erased the harsh lines that she had first noticed on his arrival in France. Christine mused that how strange it was that perfect joy could make such a change. She could almost pretend that she was still that naïve opera girl and that the years had never been.

A mischievous smile curled the edges of his mouth as he caught her lips in a kiss. His hands made their way to the edges of her shirt, only breaking the kiss to pull it over her head. Christine felt renewed desire course through her at the feel of skin on skin.

"You're mine forever," he growled possessively in her ear. His blunt teeth nipped at her earlobe. The possessive tone of his voice excited her further with a primeval passion that threatened to consume her.

Erik sat up so they were in an almost sitting position, pressing kisses to her throat and breasts. Her hands roamed his body causing him to suck in a breath.

"Tease," he groaned.

He raised his head to look at her, his Green eyes almost catlike in the candlelight as he pulled her back down on the bed with him.

Their eyes locked together with the same intensity as their bodies, as Christine slowly began to move, enjoying the feel of being in control as she rocked against him. She ran her hands over his chest setting the pace of their lovemaking, exalting in the look of pure pleasure on his face as she took him to the point of endurance.

"Christine!" he shouted out her name as he climaxed. She joined him throwing her head back as tears threatened to fall down her face.

She collapsed against his sweat-dampened chest, gently kissing him, before he rolled her over and covered them both with the eiderdown. It was not long before she fell asleep. Erik watched her for a few minutes before disengaging himself from her embrace. She made a muttered protest, mumbling in her sleep before falling silent again. He still had trouble sleeping a whole night and his nocturnal habits had not changed with the passing of time.

Erik took one of the sheets from the bed and wrapped it around his waist, before sitting down in one of the comfortable armchairs in his suite of rooms. His hand strayed to the violin case which rested by the chair. He had not played for several days and his fingers itched to touch it. He removed the instrument from the case with loving reverence. Erik wiped over the aged wood with a soft cloth, caressing each curve until it gleamed in the candlelight, before finally tucking it under his chin.

He poised his bow, positioned his fingers and began to play. The sorrowful sound filled the room and he was so caught up in the music that he was unaware that Christine had awoken, and was a captive audience. She dared not move in case she interrupted him. It was so beautiful to watch that soon her cheeks were soon wet with tears, as he seemed to wring the very soul out of her with his music.

As the last notes died away, he looked over at the bed, surprised to see her sitting up and watching him. He smiled at her, not at all disconcerted by the fact that she had been privy to something as intimate as his works. He had often shared it with her in the past, and she could tell this was another of his compositions. It warmed her that he felt so at ease to share it with her again.

She wiped at her eyes. "That was beautiful,"

Erik carefully put down the violin and bow, and got up from the chair, hardly caring as the sheet fell away from him to leave him naked before her. His movements graceful as he walked over to the bed and plucked a red rose from the vase next to it and handed it to her. He looked magnificent as he smiled down at her, his outstretched hand offering the precious bloom to her.

"No, you are beautiful. I have never seen anything more lovely at this moment, than you in our bed, your skin soft and glowing from our lovemaking. He wiped away a stray tear. I never want to see you cry again Christine. There have been too many tears,"

"What about tears of absolute joy?" she asked.

He answered her question with an enigmatic smile as she took the rose from him, and pulled back the covers for Erik to join her. He turned to extinguish the candles and got in beside her, pulling him into the circle of his arms as she absentmindedly traced patterns on his chest with the flower.

There was no light in the room, except for the moon shining in the tiny porthole window. It bathed their bed in its soft glow as they both surrendered to sleep.

Six Days Later

Their bags were packed. All was ready for their arrival, as they stood on the deck. Meg and Christine looked around with interest as they sailed into port. The heavy fog that had followed them for most of the day had finally lifted, but the sea air was still chill.

"I am frightened," whispered Christine.

Meg put her arm around her. "Just think of this as a fresh start. I on the other hand cannot wait to get on dry land. I have to admit I am not the world's best sailor."

It was broad day light, not like night when they had left France and being very aware of the dictates of Victorian society Christine had to keep a respectful distance from Erik. All she wanted was for him to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. She had to instead content herself with a glance as his face as he smiled down at her warmly.

"Well, Madame De Chagny what is your first impression of the new world?" he asked her.

"I will tell you when we get there Monsieur Devereux," she grinned saucily at him and the formality they were forced to endure.

"Wait till I get you alone Madame De Chagny, then I will wipe that impertinent smile from your lips," he whispered under his breath.

Meg looked at them both, one of her perfect blonde eyebrows arched. "Why do I feel like a fifth wheel here? Anyone would think you were on your honeymoon," she smiled to take the sting out of her words.

Christine flushed. She had not thought of the possibility of marriage for a while now. It did not seem right, at least until her year of required mourning was over. She knew Erik loved her, even if he had not yet said the words. It was as if he were waiting for something from her before speaking his own heart. However, on the deck of a ship was not the place for it. Christine sighed. She wanted the moment, when it came, to be perfect.

As the ship sailed through New York harbour, Christine got her first glimpse of her new home. The impressive almost completed Brooklyn Bridge drew gasps from several of the passengers. The two-mile stretch of pier at South Street looked very unimpressive and dirty to Christine's eyes. The stench of fish assailed her nostrils as she breathed it in.

"It is not to your liking? Christ…I mean Madame De Chagny. This is South Street or the street of ships as it is known to the rest of the world. It is a popular saying among native New Yorkers that all streets lead to South Street," Erik scanned the crowd. "Ah, I see my man of business is waiting for us on the quay."

Christine looked on the busy port seeing nothing but a sea of strangers. The dockside was thick with people of all classes huddled together like sardines. The ship's gangway was lowered and soon people began to disembark. The steerage left the ship first in reverse opposite of the order they embarked, soon adding to the swelling crowd. By the time the first class passengers began to leave the ship, mayhem had ensued on the dockside.

Before they stepped onto the walkway, Christine was surprised to see Erik don a black Fedora. It was wider brimmed than the usual kind, and with his collar up high on his cape, they both served to obscure a lot of his face.

Erik glanced at Christine, noting her surprise. "Even in such enlightened times as these, superstition is still rife. I try to not give them fuel for their ignorance."

He kept Christine and Meg close at his side, partly shielding his mask at the same time until they reached a small gap where a man of about forty years of age, or thereabouts waited. He was dressed in an unremarkable brown suit and matching bowler hat. The man was short and stocky in build, but not unattractive, with sandy blonde hair and moustache that covered most of his upper lip. The most notable thing about him was the eye patch that covered his left eye. Christine was sure by the looks of him there was a story in there somewhere and how he came to be in Erik's service, but now was not the time for questions.

Erik turned to Christine and Meg. "Ladies, may I introduce Thomas Keane,"

"Good day to you ladies," he said in a heavy Irish accent.

He held out a hand. Christine was the first to take it. If she concentrated hard enough she could just about understand him. Erik had been tutoring her aboard ship and prior to their leaving France, in English. She had been surprised to find out just how much she did remember from her old lessons, although his accent did defeat her a little.

"Pleased to meet you Monsieur Keane," she smiled as she shook his hand.

"That's a pretty little accent you have there." he smiled. "And may I say you are even more beautiful as the portrait which hangs in my Master's office,"

Erik coughed, looking uncomfortable. "Enough of your Irish flattery Tom, where is the coach?"

The man shrugged casually. "With all that was going on, I thought it best to leave it a couple of streets away. There have been fights breaking out all morning. Where's your luggage?"

"I have arranged for it to be brought to the house later," Erik replied.

"Right then, lets be having you," He turned to go, and the small party followed him through the crowds.

"Did you say house?" asked Christine.

"Yes, but Meg and yourself will be sharing an annexe attached to the house for propriety's sake and to keep the old tabbies of New York society happy. I will not lie to you Christine; they are a ruthless crowd, but unavoidable. Win their hearts and you will be set for life. Of course the snob in most of them will be impressed by your title alone." He added dryly.

"My former title," She reminded him firmly.

"You have a lot to learn Mon amour," he smiled at her.

A scream went up in the crowd as the sounds of gunshots were fired. The mass hysteria went through the populace like a tidal wave of human fear. People were running in all directions. Erik protectively put an arm around Christine, trying to shield her from the oncoming stampede.

"Tom! Take care of Mademoiselle Giry! If we get separated meet me at the coach," roared Erik above the noise.

Tom nodded and took Meg's arm as they tried to get out of the crush. She took it gratefully. The sound of police whistles being blown rang in the air. Pitiful amounts of police officers tried to bring order to the chaos, but were too few among the many. As Erik had feared, they were soon parted from the other couple. He glanced back a couple of times, but had lost sight of them altogether. Not even a glance of Meg's bright blue bonnet could be seen.

Erik managed to manoeuvre Christine into a quieter side street, both of them breathless and dishevelled. She collapsed against him, her tiny form shaking. He put a finger under her chin to look at her pale face and her wide frightened eyes.

"Do not be afraid, while I am here nothing will ever harm you Christine. I would give my life for your safety in a heartbeat," He lowered his head to kiss her lips softly and briefly. When he pulled away, he noticed the tears about to fall and he looked at her in mock disapproval. "I thought I told you no more tears," he smiled.

He held out his arm and she took it, leading her down the next street to where his carriage waited. It was a handsome vehicle, pulled by four black horses. They reminded Christine of Erik's horse that had led her down to his lair the first time she had seen him in the flesh. He had of course been sold at auction after the fire. If Christine had known at the time that Erik still lived, she would have kept him.

Erik tipped at nod at his coachman before opening the door to help Christine inside. He stood by the open door waiting for the arrival of Meg and his manservant. The time ticked on and minutes soon turned into half an hour. Christine's agitation grew, that something awful must have happened to the other two. Erik took out his watch from his waistcoat and examined it. As he glanced up, he saw Tom appear from around the corner, supported by a police officer.

Erik left Christine's side to assist Tom. Christine got out of the carriage and followed him. Tom looked up at Erik. An ugly bruise was forming on his forehead, a trickle of dried blood stained his face.

"I am sorry Sir…we were almost out of it and then someone struck me from behind. I fell and the next thing I knew I was face down on the pavement and the little Miss was nowhere to be seen. All I found was this."

He held out the tatters of a dirty blue ribbon that had once been attached to Meg's travelling dress. Tom's legs buckled under him and Erik had to grab him to stop him from falling.

Christine's hands flew to her mouth in horror as she watched the scrap of blue fall to the ground.

"Oh Meg,"

TBC


	12. A Possible Lead

**A/N The Street that Erik's house is on in the story is a fabricated address, although after further research I discovered there is an Orchard Street in Manhattan.**

A Possible lead

Chapter 11

Erik saw Tom safely into the carriage and turned to face Christine. She was white with shock and trembling, her eyes dark pools of fear.

"This is my entire fault. If I hadn't asked Meg to come to America with me then none of this would have ever happened."

"There is no fault Christine, and there isn't time to blame ourselves for what has happened. If you will be alright for a moment then I will go and talk to the police officer that brought Tom to us,"

"Fine, I will stay here and watch over Tom," said Christine, glad to have an occupation for her terrified mind, which was already going over the possibilities of what could have happened to her friend.

She kept an eye on the man as he lay back on the seat cushions, occasionally turning and straining her ears to hear what was being said. The police officer's accent and the speed of his speech totally defeated her, so with a resigned sigh she turned her attention back to her charge. She wanted to cry. She could feel the unshed tears sting her eyes, but Erik was right, now was not the time and it would not help them discover what had happened to Meg.

_She may have just gotten lost in the press of the crowds._

_Then why had Tom been assaulted?_ Christine could feel the hysteria rising again. She was just about to turn around and march over to the men, when she hit the solid wall of Erik's chest.

He took her hand in his. "Now Christine, I need you to stay calm…and strong. I know you have it in you. After all you nursed your husband those long months alone…"

"Please…just tell me," she pleaded.

"Very well," he looked down at her with grim determination. "The officer informs me that there have been reports of young girls going missing in the area…inducted into prostitution against their will,"

"But what would they want with Meg? She is hardly a young girl, but neither is she old. There must be a mistake! She is lost in some back street. We will find her!"

"Yes, that is a possibility. No stone will be unturned. The police officer is going to go back to his yard and send some men out to search for her. I am going with them,"

Tom sat up in the carriage and leaned out of the window, cradling his still bleeding head with one of his handkerchiefs. He looked at the couple.

"If that is what has befallen the little miss, then may I suggest you start looking in five points? Let me come with you. I should have taken better care of her." He stood up; only to crumple back into his seat again as a wave of dizziness took over him.

Erik looked at him, sternly, but kindly. "Let's not make assumptions until we have all the facts and you're no good to me like this Tom. Get some rest,"

He turned his attention to Christine, not showing the fear that Tom's suggestion had given him. If she were indeed in Five points, then their task of recovering her was not going to be easy. The district that Tom had mentioned was the worst area in the city. It was a neighbourhood filled with dilapidated slums, a hotbed of vice, corruption and prostitution. There was still a chance that she was lost and wandering the streets. He was still clinging to that hope and that was where they would look first.

"I will come with you. I cannot leave here without her," said Christine firmly.

"Of course we will search for her, but it is getting dark and the streets around here are not the place for you. Christine you do not know your way around New York and I will not risk losing you as well,"

"So, you just expect me to get in this carriage and go home wherever that may be, and wait for news?" She pouted, placing her hands on her hips.

Erik's mouth thinned out in annoyance. "Yes I do Madame De Chagny,"

Christine felt the indignant anger build inside her at the insulting drawl as his mouth articulated her married name.

"But it…"

"Take the carriage back to my house and await me there. Tom needs care and I know these streets well. I promise you that Meg will be restored to us. I owe her and her mother that much,"

Christine sighed. She felt ashamed by her petulance. He was right; she would be of better use at home watching over Tom. She only had to look into Erik's eyes and see the thinly veiled emotions that were running through him…and the fear he had tried so hard to conceal, but she had seen anyway.

"I am sorry," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

Erik smiled at her and returned the pressure before lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it briefly. He helped Christine into the carriage and closed the door on her. She pulled down the window. Erik was filled with the desire to pull her towards him and kiss her lips with the violence of emotions that he was feeling, but with the coach driver and police officer looking on, he had to restrain himself.

"I am sorry too. I will return when there is news my love,"

He raised his hand, about to signal to the coach driver, when Christine pulled him back to her and kissed him hard on the lips. He was too shocked to respond at first to her very public display of affection. Nevertheless, with the feel of her soft lips moving against his own, soon all thought fled as he returned the kiss. He pulled back reluctantly and nodded at the driver. Erik watched until the coach was out of sight, he touched his lips briefly, still feeling the imprint of her mouth on his.

The police officer looked at him with a smile. "It's nice to be married isn't it Sir," he stated.

"She's not my…" Erik paused. She was indeed his wife in every thing but name. It felt wrong to deny what lay between them. "Thank you…yes it is."

"Now let's get to the yard and get help, so that we begin searching for your friend,"

Erik turned to look at the man. "I want an honest answer, what are our chances of finding her?"

The police officer sighed with the world-weariness of a man who had seen too much death and violence in his young life.

"If she was taken by the kind of people I think she was, and if she does as they say, she will survive. However, the ones that don't, are usually found at some place or another,"

"And where would that be?" asked Erik.

"Floating in the Hudson Sir," replied the officer, grimly.

"I will not allow that to happen," said Erik, with an icy determination.

* * *

The coach pulled up outside a large house on the corner of Orchard St that would not have been out of place in a gothic horror novel. The streetlamps had already started to be lit, which cast a soft glow over the almost impenetrable darkness that had since fallen. Lights blazed in every window of the tall three-story building that was Erik's home. 

Tom had fallen asleep on the last part of their journey, only to be awoken by the jolt as their carriage had come to a stop. He watched the woman that his master had adored all these years as she sat there with a quiet dignity. He could almost understand his obsession with her, but his mind kept going back to the blonde angel that he had met off the boat, only to lose her moments later. _He should have been more vigilant, he knew what kind of vermin inhabited those areas, and after all, he had once been a part of it._ He sighed heavily before turning his attention back to Christine.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" he asked her.

Christine was lost in her own thoughts and almost missed his softly spoken words.

"Yes it is,"

"Monsieur Devereux built it himself you know. It is his design from the foundations to the roof," said Tom proudly.

Christine turned to look at Tom, unshed tears in her eyes. "Do you think we will find her?"

"One thing I have learned about my employer is that if he wants something he will get it…do not worry Madam, he will find your friend. I would have been out there tonight looking for her myself if he had let me."

The driver opened the coach door, let down the step and held out a hand to assist Christine from the carriage. She waited, while he also helped Tom. He was still very unsteady on his feet as he struggled up the path to the house. The driver then left them, to go stable the horses.

Christine looked at the imposing, shiny black painted door for a moment, before she rapped on the knocker. They did not have to wait long before the sounds of footsteps on a tiled floor could be heard.

The door was flung open to reveal a huge black shape dominating the doorway, its hands on its hips, and hair sticking up in all directions. Christine gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

"Mon Dieu!"

The shape walked into the light of the porch and Christine breathed a sigh of relief as it turned out to be a portly woman of advanced years. Christine guessed her to be around the age of sixty. Her hair was tightly rolled up in curlers and she looked as if she had been in the process of retiring for the night.

"Now we'll have none of that fancy French talk here missy. My name's Patty by the way and if you want an answer at anytime you have to use it." she winked at Christine. "Good old fashioned English is my language. Have enough with Erik and his French expletives. Thinks I don't understand him either," She burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "Come in, before you catch your death of cold. New York springtime can still be nippy at night,"

"Merci…I mean thank you, Patty," Christine amended.

Christine did not understand all of her words, but got the main essence of what the older woman was saying. She stepped over the threshold of Erik's home. She was not sure what she had expected, but it was nothing like the dark dank home he had inhabited back at the opera house. It was as if he had purposely made it the opposite of the place that had been nothing more than a prison to him.

She smiled to herself at the large chandelier that dominated the grand hallway. _Some things however did not change, and so it seemed, neither had Erik's penchant for chandeliers._

"Where is Monsieur Devereux? I thought there were to be two young ladies arriving tonight?" asked Patty

Tom gave Patty a glance, which silenced her before he began. "There was trouble at the docks. The other miss was separated from us. Erik has gone with the police to help search for her,"

"And what happened to you?" she asked. Noting the ugly bruise on his forehead.

"I was set upon when I was escorting the said miss to the carriage,"

Christine looked from Tom to the housekeeper, seeing the look that passed between them and watching as Patty's smile faded. There was something they were not telling her, she could feel it. However, she was so very tired and distraught, that she had no energy for more questions. She could only wait, helplessly, until there was some news of Meg.

"Tom can show you to the drawing room. I will go and make some tea,"

Christine followed Tom down the long hallway until they came to a set of double doors, which were frosted with glass. He turned the handles and opened the door onto a cheery looking sitting room. It appeared well used and had such a cosy feel to it, which instantly made her feel at home.

"This is Erik's private room. All the other grand rooms in this place are merely for show and he rarely uses them, but I think he would want me to bring you here,"

"Thank you," she replied.

Tom put a hand to his temple, looking suddenly pale. Christine rushed to his side.

"You have done enough. Get some rest, I will be fine here until Erik returns."

"Very well," he sighed. "If you need anything just ring the bell. Patty will be there in an instant. For an old woman she is dangerously fast on her feet. She may have the appearance of a gorgon, but she has a heart of pure gold."

Christine watched Tom walk off before closing the doors on her. She needed to be alone. Erik's presence could be felt in the room as if he were standing by her side. It comforted her a little. A jacket lay against the back of one of two leather armchairs that graced the room. The latest copy of the New York times lay on the floor. The area its self, was almost empty of furniture apart from a modest bookshelf. A piano rested against one of the walls and a small table was positioned between the two chairs. Everything had been prepared in readiness for the master's return. The fire in the hearth blazed invitingly and Christine removed her gloves and went to stand in front of it.

Alone, she let the façade drop and began to weep in earnest, her shoulders shaking as the huge sobs wracked her tiny frame. She was so caught up in her misery that she did not hear the sound of the tea tray as it was placed on the table. A pair of strong arms enfolded her and turned her around. Christine rested her head on the ample shoulders of the housekeeper, as the woman stroked her hair until her tears begun to ebb.

Patty led her over to one of the armchairs and sat her down, before pouring her a cup of tea. Christine took it gratefully, the hot sweet brew was just what she needed as she realised it had been some time since she had last eaten. Not that she had the stomach for food, even when Patty insisted she try some of her home baked cookies.

"Would you like me to stay until the master arrives?" she asked.

"No, thank you," Christine replied.

Patty nodded understandingly and made a discreet exit. She unpinned her bonnet, glad to be free of it. She placed it on the table and leaned back in the chair. It was then that her head encountered the material of Erik's jacket that lay across it. She pulled it off the back of the chair and breathed in his scent, before wrapping her arms about it, wishing with all her heart that its owner were in her arms at this moment. Maybe she was cursed. She thought agitatedly. _After all, she had never brought Erik anything but suffering._

Christine sighed. She knew that last frantic thought was untrue. Whatever had happened in the past, she had seen pure joy in his face these last few weeks. She lay back in the chair, Erik's jacket still in her grasp, while she listened to the sounds of the mantle clock as the minutes ticked away into hours and her eyelids finally grew heavy.

* * *

It was almost dawn, when Erik resignedly made his way up the path to his house. He turned the key in the lock and entered the almost dark hallway. Patty always turned the lamps down low, past midnight, and now it was almost a new day. He threw his cape and hat on the floor, too tired to care as they hit the marble tiles.

He needed a brandy. The news he had for Christine was not good. _At least she was safely tucked up in her bed out of harms way._ He walked down the hall and opened the doors to his sitting room. Erik was surprised to find Christine in his favourite chair, curled up asleep, and wrapped up in his jacket.

She looked so peaceful that he was loath to wake her. Instead, he went over to the Tantalus on his bookcase and took the brandy decanter from it. He poured a generous measure into one of the balloon glasses by its side.

Christine stirred, sensing she was no longer alone. She opened her eyes to see Erik contemplating a glass that he held in his hand. His face was grim and set. Dark stubble highlighted his face and he looked so very tired.

She divested herself of his jacket and held out a hand to him. "Erik," she sighed sleepily.

He took a deep gulp of the brandy, not caring that the liquor burned his throat as it went down. She was surprised as he took her hand and pulled her out of the chair and held her against him tightly.

"What is it? Is it Meg? Did you find her?" asked Christine against, his shoulder.

"Yes and no," Erik pulled back to look at her. "I searched all night along with several of the officers. We had all but given up hope for the evening when a woman in one of the back alleys approached us. At first, we thought it was just one of the many prostitutes in the area, plying her trade. She had apparently been following us for some time and had overheard that we were looking a French woman that had been abducted earlier that day,"

"Why would you trust her?" asked Christine.

"Because she did not ask for money."

Erik decided to leave out the part about the woman's sister having suffered the same fate as Meg. To be abducted no sooner than she had arrived on American soil and had died as a result. He did not want to add to her heartache.

"She had personal reasons of her own for wanting to help, which convinced me of her sincerity. I am to meet her at 11pm tomorrow night on the corner of Orange St and she says she can take me to where they are holding her,"

"It might be dangerous," said Christine.

Erik smiled at her naiveté. "I will not be going alone. Tom if he is well, will be coming with me and there will be several officers in the area in civilian clothing,"

"I want to come with you," said Christine.

Erik almost snorted aloud. "Christine you have no idea of the kind of lowlifes that in habit that area. Five points is like walking into hells gates,"

Christine bit back the sharp retort that hovered on her lips. She was tired of being treated like the fragile girl she had once been. Raoul had taught her to shoot and fence with deadly accuracy and her own ability had surpassed that of her husband's in the end. Although at the time, she had thought his instruction had only been the means for her to defend herself against the Phantom, if he had ever proven to still be alive and come looking for them.

She would play the helpless female for now, but Christine would listen out for her chance to aid her friend. She was tired of sitting at home and playing the good little woman when she could be helping.

"Where is Tom?" he asked.

"He went to bed some time ago. He was still a little shaken up, but I think he will be fine," Christine flushed guiltily for having not checked up on him before now.

Erik took her hand. "Come with me upstairs and we will both look in on him. All that can be done has been done until tonight,"

Yes indeed. Thought Christine to herself.

They climbed the grand double staircase together. Their footsteps muffled by the rich cream coloured carpet that covered it. Erik led her down the hall to a door at the far end of the passageway. He knocked before entering the room. Tom struggled to sit up in the bed at the sight of his visitors.

"So did you find her?" asked Tom.

"Yes, she's in Five Points,"

"I knew it!" he exclaimed.

Christine saw Tom's face grow hard at the news as she saw a side of him that was hidden beneath that polite civility. Erik obviously liked to keep company with people with shady pasts. What was that saying, she thought…_birds of a feather?_

She could tell there were things that they wished to discuss by the heavy silence that fell in the room. Christine excused herself and asked for directions to the washroom. She partially closed the door behind her; just enough to hear what was being said.

As soon as she left the room, they began to discuss what was to be done to bring Meg back.

"Does Christine know what kind of place Five points is?" asked Tom.

"I only told her what she needed to know. As far as she is concerned it's no worse that your average Parisian slum. We think Meg is being held in the brothel on Orange St. I am to meet the woman there tonight at 11 o'clock are you up for a little night work Tom?"

"Need you ask? Nevertheless, begging your pardon Erik, you are going to need some clothing that fits into the mood of the place. You go dressed like that and they will have the very shirt off your back within seconds,"

"I had thought of that. Later when you are feeling up to it, I want you to go to the Salvation Army store and buy us some suitable garments. Now I am going to get some much needed rest before tonight,"

Christine opened the door and entered the room, smiling innocently at the men. Erik got up from the side of Tom's bed and took her hand. She nodded her goodbye to Tom before they closed the door and left him alone.

"Doubt you'll be getting that much rest," grinned Tom to himself as he got up out of the bed and began to get dressed.

TBC


	13. No Longer Denied

A/N Thank you to everyone for the reviews of the previous chapter, they were appreciated. As usual the chapter has been censored. If you wish to read the full version go to Aria.  


No longer denied

Chapter 12

Erik led Christine several doors further down, until they reached the door of what she assumed to be his bedroom. He stopped at the entrance and turned around to smile at her wearily.

"I have arranged quarters for yourself and Meg at the far wing of the house. It is a self-contained apartment with its own front door. I hope that that will be enough to keep the old matrons of New York society happy."

"But what of me?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What will keep me happy? When all I want to do is sleep by your side, every night for the rest of our lives," she said softly.

Erik swallowed hard at her words. It took all of his willpower not to fall to his knees and kiss the hem of her gown. If there were a moment when he could possibly love her more, then he would be hard pressed to find it. How he had survived without her for so long, he would never know. The long lonely years all seemed a distant unhappy memory compared to the warmth of her company.

He stumbled slightly as he went to take her in his arms. Christine closed the remaining distance between them, trying to give him support.

"Come, you are exhausted. Let me help you undress and get you into bed,"

"That sounds like a proposition,"

Erik smiled at the rosy colour that tinged her cheeks, but made no argument at her suggestion as she opened the bedroom door and they walked through it. The warm reds and earthy tones of the boudoir instantly impressed her. She smiled approvingly, not at the least surprised at his good taste.

"You like the room?" he asked, noting the look of pleasure on her face.

"Yes I do," she replied simply. "You have made yourself a beautiful home,"

"No, before it was a house, now it is a home," They looked at each other for several, emotion heavy moments before he smiled down at her. I am glad you like my room, I intend for us to spend many happy nights…and days in here,"

Christine felt her insides melt as she watched the suggestive smile spread across his face. Seeing him smile was such a rare and beautiful occasion, and it went a little to dissolving the pain and fear at her friend's disappearance. Erik saw the shadow pass over her face and correctly interpreted its cause.

"We will find her," he said with quiet determination.

She smiled weakly at his words and bowed her head, concentrating on sliding his jacket from his shoulders. Christine placed it on the bed and turned back to face him. Her hands rested on the fine material of his waistcoat for a moment, before she started to unbutton it. Erik drew in a breath. When he had agreed to let her undress him, he had not reckoned on his body's reaction to her touch.

As Christine undid the last button of his waistcoat, she glanced up at him, demurely through semi-lowered lids. He caught the flash of mischief on her face before she looked down again and loosened the knot on his cravat.

Erik was starting to feel at a definite disadvantage as she divested him of his garments, but remained fully clothed herself. She had just removed his shirt and he watched in fascination as her tiny, but beautiful hands rested on the waistband of his trousers.

"Do you want me to take these off as well?" she asked.

_Damn her, she knew he did._

He lowered his head and kissed her hard apon the mouth.

"Does that answer your question Madame?" he asked hoarsely, stunned into silence as he felt her hand slide lower.

As she caressed him intimately, he felt as if he had died and gone to heaven. He groaned aloud and threaded his fingers through her hair. He could feel the need rising within him all too quickly, but he did not want it to be over so soon.

"Oh God! Christine...no, I need you," he explained at her look of bewilderment, as he pulled her to him.

He ravaged her lips in a violent kiss. They pulled apart, and Erik carried her over to the huge bed and sat her on the edge of it. He tore off his mask, caring little as to where it fell. Erik removed the rest of his garments, along with his shoes. She looked down at him, as he knelt at her feet and felt a sudden urge to cry. It seemed he was finally becoming free of the confines of that little white prison. He would never be free of it in the real world, but in the only world that mattered, their own private world, he could finally live.

Erik was in the mood to give her some of the same exquisite torture she had visited upon himself. She cried out and gripped his shoulders as he explored her body. She was close to her release, but like him, she tried to hold it back. Christine wanted them to be together when the moment came.

"Erik," she half pleaded.

He understood the meaning behind her soft cry as she spoke his name. He moved between her legs and joined them together.

Erik's eyes never left her face, watching her every reaction. The flushed cheeks and the open adoration in her eyes, were like balm to his scarred soul.

Christine glanced behind her, and caught a glimpse of them locked together in the reflection of the long dressing mirror behind her. She was lost in the naked beauty of his form, as she caressed every muscle and sinew of that strong firm back.

She leaned back on the bed, and took him with her. Erik ground his mouth against hers, her little sighs of pleasure arousing him to new heights.

"I love you!" she cried out on a sob.

Erik's eyes widened in shock, but before he could fully take in her passionate declaration, his body begged release from the sensual onslaught. Christine felt the nip of his teeth as they suckled at her skin, but she cared little of that.

They rested, still locked together as their breathing slowed. Erik did not dare move, as her words spoken only minutes before, slowly penetrated his mind.

Christine lay there, shocked that she had finally spoken the words aloud. Erik had not said a word yet and she wondered if by some chance he had not heard her. _No, that was a false hope_. She had almost screamed them loud enough for half of New York to hear. She was sure of it.

Erik finally made a move to roll off her. He took her with him as they lay side, by side on the bed. His grey green eyes piercing as they studied her face and she felt as if he were trying to comb the very depths of her soul. His eyes had the power to strip her more naked than his hands ever could. However, she returned his gaze, unwaveringly, not ashamed of the sentiments she had voiced aloud. Her heart had no longer wished to be denied its voice, whatever his reservations and her recent bereavement.

His eyes softened as he ran a finger along the line of her jaw, moving to caress her kiss-swollen lips. Erik noted that in the heat of their coupling, he had left a small purplish love bite at the base of her throat. He smiled, but still was unable to speak. There was a hundred things he could say to her, tell her what it had meant to him to hear those precious words, but he was afraid it would break the feeling of perfect contentment that washed over him as she kissed the thumb that rested on her lower lip. He closed his eyes, while resting his other hand across her waist.

Christine could bear it no longer; she had to know what he was feeling.

"Erik…I know you think it too soon after all that has happened, but I meant what I said. I do love you, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in this life and God forgive me, I think I even love you more than my beloved father," she finished on a sob, as her voice cracked with emotion.

When he still did not speak, she begun to fear he had fallen asleep, until suddenly he opened his eyes to look at her. The love she read in his eyes made the breath catch in her throat.

"Christine…I love you," She could see what it had cost him to say those words, the flicker of pain and fear in his voice unmistakable.

The softly spoken words took her mind back in time to the last time she had heard them. A very different man had spoken them then, but the memory of his pain and his tears was still fresh. With a sudden comprehension she realised why he had been so reluctant to voice his feelings before, although she had felt his love a thousand fold in the reverence of his touch. It was because the last time he had spoken them, she had left him, alone and a broken shell of the proud, intelligent man that he was.

Somehow, he had managed to claw his way back from that, to become the man he was now. He held himself with the quiet dignity of man who had finally found his place in the world. It dawned on her, that he had done the right thing to let her go. _He had loved her that much._ She had chosen him and he had rejected her, but not because he did not want her as she had at first imagined, but _because_ he wanted her. It made a strange kind of sense to her.

Christine pulled him into her arms and he rested his head against her breast.

"I love you so very much. Words do not even begin to express it," she sighed, letting out all the pain and loneliness of the wasted years.

His breathing slowed and she realised he was in fact now asleep, but she did not begrudge him the rest. He would need it for tonight, when _they _renewed their search for Meg. When Christine was sure that he was deeply asleep, she very carefully pulled her arm out from under him. He stirred a couple of times, but went back to sleep. Christine got off the bed and as much as she enjoyed watching him sleep in his naked beauty, she wrapped the quilt over him and placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

She walked into what was his bathroom, and washed herself with water from the taps, too intent on her task to be bothered with the novelty of running water. She put her discarded undergarments back on and quietly left the room.

* * *

Christine walked down the corridor until she reached Tom's room. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening for signs that he was still in residence. She was wholly unprepared for the door suddenly opening. Christine fell forward, Tom was just as shocked as she was, but his reactions were quick as he stopped her from falling.

Christine straightened herself, blushing fiery red.

"I er…" she struggled for the right words.

"You wanted to see me about something?" asked Tom, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"Er yes…Erik told me to ask you if you would also get me some women's clothing from that place you are going to…"

"And why would that be?" he asked sceptically.

"I am to go with you to find my friend," she replied.

"Look Miss, I know Mr Devereux pretty well and I am sure the last thing he would want is you risking your pretty little neck in five points. Nice try," he grinned, before placing his bowler hat on his head and walking off down the hallway, whistling as he went.

Christine balled her hands up in frustration until another idea came to her mind. This was a large household and there were bound to be servants. She turned and walked back the way she came, to Erik's room. He was still asleep, with one arm, flung out over his head. Christine walked over to the large wardrobes that flanked one wall. She opened the door, wincing as one of the hinges squeaked in protest. She quickly glanced behind her, but Erik had not stirred.

After a perfunctorily search of the shelves, she came up with nothing. She needed funds. Christine had inherited a small stipend from Raoul's estate, but she felt that was more to the generosity of his cousin Etienne than any real legacy. Hardly enough to feed a flea, but she couldn't touch that yet as an account had not been set up for her here in New York. She was for all intense purposes without a flag to fly with.

As Christine turned around in defeat, she noticed Erik's discarded clothing, lying scattered on the bedroom floor, along with his pants. She picked them up and felt about in the pockets, smiling to herself as she found his wallet. She took out one of the bank notes

_It was only a dollar_. Then why did it feel like she had just robbed him of all his worldly possessions she wondered. She guiltily tucked the wallet back into the pants and left the room again, in search of a servant to bribe. It did not take long as she made her way down the grand staircase. The servants were already at work. Christine spied a young girl with a mop and bucket cleaning the hall floor.

"Excuse me," Christine stood behind the girl.

They were both startled as the girl let out a little scream. The house cleaner turned around to face her, her hand on her chest and her eyes wide in her face.

"Good morning Madam," the girl bobbed a curtsey.

Christine decided the girl was suffering from a decided lack of curiosity as to her identity, but she knew from running Raoul's household, that gossip was rife among the servants. Most of them probably already knew that she and their master had already spent the last couple of hours in his room as well. Her mouth curved in wry amusement. She turned her attention back to the girl.

Christine struggled for the right words as she tried to explain what she needed. After several hand gestures and attempts to explain what she wanted, the girl suddenly understood her. Although she looked, a little confused at the other woman's request. However, she had only been working there a short while and did not want to risk displeasing the woman who might soon be the new mistress of the house.

"I don't have anything…"

Christine looked at her in disappointment.

"But there are some things that were left in my room by the girl who worked here before me," she replied, helpfully. "She was a lot smaller than me, so they are of no use to me. Would you like me to fetch them now madam?"

Christine glanced towards the stairs. "Now would be an excellent time. I will come with you," she replied before looking back at the girl.

The girl still couldn't understand what such a fine and well dressed lady as the woman before her, would want with servants cast offs. _The rich were a strange lot_, she mused, as she led Christine to her quarters in her attic room.

Christine waited patiently while the girl opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. She looked around the room. It was very pretty and clean, with a comfortable looking bed and a few items of furniture to make it homier. Erik was generous with even the lowest echelons of his household. It was just another reason why she loved him so, he put on this hard exterior to the world, but his true nature was apparent with everything that he undertook.

"What is your name?" asked Christine.

"Rachel, Madam," replied the girl as she turned back to Christine.

The girl held up a bottle green gown, which looked like it might once have been fine. However the lace around the collar had yellowed with age and there were several patches where it had been mended by its previous owner. There were heavy wrinkles in it too, it was perfect. In Rachel's other hand was a black bonnet that looked to be at least twenty years out of fashion. Christine could remember Madame Giry owning something similar, when they had lived at the Opera house.

"Très bon!"

The girl frowned.

"Thank you,"

Christine left the room in search of a good hiding place for the clothing, where she could fetch them from later.

* * *

There was a funny taste in her mouth and her head hurt. Meg slowly opened her eyes and looked around the room in confusion. The last thing she could recall was Tom steering her through the rioting crowds and then soon after that everything had gone dark. There had been other brief moments of lucidity followed by the sharp sting of a needle in her arm. Her mind felt foggy and disorientated.

Meg tried to move her arms to get into a sitting position; the floorboards were dirty, dusty and uncomfortable. She quickly discovered that she was unable to move either her hands or feet. They were both tightly bound.

"Mon Dieu!" she cried in frustration.

She instantly regretted making any noise, as she soon heard the sound of heavy footsteps before the door handle was turned. Meg was not sure what she had expected, but she was certainly not prepared for the small woman, with the hard dark eyes that walked through the doorway.

"So you're awake then?" she asked Meg disdainfully.

"Where am I?" asked Meg, refusing to show any fear to this unknown person.

"That's neither here nor there dear. As long as you do as you are told then you'll live to see another day," She seemed to take satisfaction from the other woman's sudden pallor. She walked over to Meg and grabbed her roughly by the jaw, turning her head from side to side. "Well you are a pretty girl, and French. I am sure you will be very popular with our customers. They are always looking for a touch of the exotic," she cackled at her.

"Customers…what do you mean? You cannot keep me here. I will scream…someone will hear me!"

"Scream all you want, no one cares. The local beat is paid well enough to ignore it, besides it all comes with the territory,"

"What do you mean…territory? What is this place?"

"Why…it's a whorehouse dearie and you are my latest girl. We will make a lot of money together….well you will and I will keep it and in return I will let you live,"

"Mais non!"

"You will do as you're told for the paying clientele like a good little slut!" The woman knelt down and leered at her.

"I would rather die!" Meg replied, as she spat in the woman's face.

The woman did not even flinch as she wiped her face with a grubby sleeve of her dress. Meg let out a gasp of a pain, as with lightening speed the woman whipped a cutthroat razor as if from thin air and held it at her throat. Meg could feel the wet trickle of blood as the blade was pressed against her skin.

"Be careful what you wish for,"

The door burst open and a large bulky looking man, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand entered the room.

"What are you doing Josie? The gents won't pay for her if you cut her up," he growled, as he took a big lug of the bottle of liquor in his hand.

"Just teaching her, her place, that's all Frank," she grumbled as she put the razor away.

"Go see to your duties, there are a couple of clients looking for girls and we don't want to keep them waiting,"

Josie got up and walked out of the room. Meg had never felt more wretched and alone as she thought of her mother and Christine. She wondered if she would ever see their faces again. Not usually one for tears, she decided the occasion called for it as one slid down her dirty cheek, leaving a track in its wake. Meg closed her eyes, wanting to shut out the living nightmare into which she had been flung.

She flinched as she felt a rough meaty hand stroke her face. Meg opened her eyes in alarm to find Frank's face inches from her own. He had knelt down on the floor. There was a disgusting leer twisting his lips as his hand travelled from her cheek to her breast. His breathing grew heavier. Meg's stomach lurched at the smell of stale whiskey and sweat. Whatever ever he was about to do to her, she wished that she would not live long enough to endure it.

"Want to show me what you've got?" he asked, running his tongue along his lips.

Meg looked on in terror as he started to unbuckle his belt.

"Frank!"

"What the hell!" he cursed, as he got unsteadily to his feet. He stooped down to pick up his whiskey bottle and turned around to face Meg before he left the room. "Later,"

She heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock, and let out a huge sigh of relief for the reprieve.

* * *

Erik awoke in his bed, with a warm feeling of contentment, which he soon discovered was not all due to the recent words that had been spoken between himself and Christine. He placed his hand on the arm that was draped about him and he turned to look at her.

"So you are awake then?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Hmmm, what time is it?" he asked.

"Well, your watch is in your waistcoat pocket, but I am afraid that it is on the floor along with the rest of your clothing," she giggled.

The clock by the fireplace chimed the hour and Erik sat up in bed.

"It is five. I need to find Tom, I have slept too long," he said placing a quick kiss on Christine's lips, before getting out of the bed and going to his wardrobe.

She watched his movements as he took a fine lawn shirt from its hanger and buttoned it. Erik's hands had always fascinated her. The fingers were long and lean. They could wring such beautiful music from whatever they touched, she included, Christine realised. She stretched out on the bed with feline grace before leaving the bed herself.

Erik slipped on a pair of chocolate brown pants and tidied his hair before going to another cupboard and retrieving a wig. He patted it down on his head and turned back to her. He held out his hand and she took it, her own small hand almost lost in the size of his own. He had not bothered to put his mask back on. It pleased her that he was finally letting down his guard a little more.

"Let me show you to the apartment that you will be sharing with Meg,"

The smile that had hovered on Christine's lips disappeared at the mention of her friend's name and for a moment, her resolve to go along on tonight's undertaking wavered. _What if she made a bad situation worse?_

Erik took a key from the pocket of his trousers as he led her down a back staircase to a whitewashed corridor, with a heavy looking oak door, which even had its own number on it. He had not been in jest when he had said it was like a separate apartment to the house. Her only complaint was that it was so far from where he slept, although she planned to be with him as much as possible.

Erik handed her the brass key, and she took it from his hand. Their fingers touching for several moments before she put the key in the lock. Christine glanced back at him before she turned the handle. There was a look of expectancy, she had not noticed beforehand. Christine turned and opened the door.

It was like walking into a summer meadow. The walls were decorated with pale blue watered silk. The room was filled with light as the sun shone in through the large windows. No attention to detail had been spared. Christine lovingly touched the shiny surface of the mahogany dresser. Her apparent delight reminded him of a child. The breath caught in her throat as she turned away and her eyes fell on a water colour painting, hanging on one of the walls. Tears stung at her eyes and she dashed them away feeling foolish.

She walked over to look at the painting. "My father's house by the sea? But how did you know?" she asked, turning to face him.

"I remembered our long talks together Christine. I made enquiries and commissioned a painter,"

She gave him a watery smile. "You made all of this, without any hopes of ever seeing me again…it's beautiful," she sighed.

It was not nearly as beautiful as seeing the pleasure the room brought to her. "It was what I saw when I…thought of you," he replied huskily. "If you follow me, there is another room through here for Meg, and a bathroom with running water,"

Christine's dark eyes saddened. "I will look at it later. I see our luggage has arrived," The happy moment was gone, as she walked over to the trunks and traced the initials **MG**, stamped in gold letters on the topmost trunk.

"I hate to leave you, but I must find Tom. There is much to be done before I go out tonight,"

Christine walked over to him and kissed him on the lips before resting her head on his chest. "You will be careful won't you?" she asked.

"Of course, besides, I have so much to live for now," he replied.

He left the room, and when his footsteps had faded, Christine moved Meg's trunk off her own. She took the tiny key from the locket she was wearing and unlocked the case before unbuckling the leather straps. She carefully laid the clothing from within, on the bed. It was then that she removed the false bottom from the trunk. Raoul had had the luggage custom made for security purposes, not trusting the servants at coaching inns with valuables and such. They had come in handy when Christine had taken her pair of pearl handled revolvers with her, which her husband had given her on her birthday one year.

Christine checked to make sure they were both fully loaded, before secreting them away in a bedside drawer. She made the most of her time alone to leave the apartment and go recover the concealed clothing. She was glad to quit the room that had suddenly seemed so empty, even more so as it was to have been hers and Meg's living quarters. _That was something soon remedied, the men were going to rescue her friend tonight and she was going to assist in anyway she could,_ she thought with quiet determination.

TBC


	14. Indiscretions

**A little author note before we start. I am an Erik Christine shipper so dont panic when you read certain parts of this chapter. I also really appreciate the couple of reviewers pointing out I had forgotton to name the last chapter and the Rene thing, it was appreciated! Sorry I was so long with an update, but it is a nice long one, so can I be forgiven?  
**

Indiscretions 

Chapter 13

Erik returned sometime later, giving Christine plenty of time to get her own plans in order. After asking his housekeeper as to Christine's whereabouts, he found her in his private sitting room. It gave him pleasure to think that she had possibly chosen the room as a way of being close to him while he had been away.

Although she had had little time to explore the large house, his sitting room was the one room in which she felt most comfortable. It was filled with little snippets of a life well lived. Half-finished scores and sketches lay scattered across the top of the piano. The room had the feel of many contented hours spent within. Earlier she had traced her fingers over the ivory keys as she had imagined his skilful hands drawing music out of the fine instrument. He seemed to demand the best from whatever he invested himself.

Most of the books that lined the shelves were in French. Although she had noticed some English ones, but she had skimmed over those. While she had been waiting for his return she had been tempted by a slim volume of quotes by Voltaire. She was soon laughing quietly under her breath. When he entered the room, she looked up from the book with a welcoming smile.

Erik's eyes went to the book she was reading. He smiled in understanding.

"I see you found the Voltaire and the _French_ version. I have I not told you…the only way you are going to learn proper English is to read it as well as speak it," he reprimanded her gently.

"Voltaire was fond of the English," She stated.

"And so you will learn to be,"

"Spoken like a true Frenchman!" she returned. "Oh I like him…listen to this….All the reasonings of men are not worth one sentiment of women."

Erik arched an eyebrow at her. "That is a matter of opinion," he said, trying to keep his face straight at her look of outrage. He took the book from her resisting fingers. "If you want to read Voltaire, there is a perfectly good copy of the same book, in English,"

"You are mean," she pouted.

Erik took her hand and pulled her up out of the armchair she was sitting in. He pulled her against him. "I could punish you for going against my instructions…. however Voltaire also said it is not enough to conquer; one must learn to seduce…"

His eyes lit up with playful sensuality and Christine felt her mouth go dry. However, she was frustrated, when he walked past her and sat down in the chair from which he had just removed her.

"By the way, you were sitting in my chair,"

"Oh, how ungallant of you!" She cried.

Erik just smiled and pulled her down to sit on his lap. "Have I ever claimed to be otherwise Christine? Besides the chair is big enough for two…"

He leaned in closer to kiss her. His breath, sweet and warm as his lips touched hers in the lightest of kisses. They were both surprised as they were suddenly aware that they were no longer alone. Christine pulled away from him, bright colour staining her cheeks. She turned around to see Patty watching them with a slight look of disapproval on her face, her thick arms folded over her ample bosom.

"I did knock, but I would say that no one was in a mind to listen," She rolled her eyes.

Christine tried to struggle free from Erik's grasp, but the more she did so, the tighter he held her. She noticed with irritation the smile that was growing at the corners of Patty's mouth as she watched them both.

"What is it Patty?" asked Erik.

"Dinner is ready. It has been for some time and unless you want the inconvenience of hiring another cook…I suggest you both come to the dining room,"

She huffed out of the door, leaving Christine to look back at him. A big smile spread across her face.

"Well that told you. Someone needs to!" She smirked, as he finally released her. Christine cried out in surprise as he slapped her rear, before she got out of his reach.

"One of these days woman, I will put you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve," he growled as he followed her out of the room.

* * *

Night fell and dusk turned into evening. After dinner, they had returned to the sitting room and had sat together in comfortable companionship. The room was softly lit from the gas lamps on the walls and the fire in the hearth, gave the room a feeling of warm intimacy. Erik had insisted that she read to him in English. It had not been easy, but she had managed to stumble over most of the words and Erik had rewarded her with a thorough kissing. Her hair had all, but escaped its pins, but the benefits had been worth it. 

When the clock struck ten, Christine got up from his lap. She stretched and feigned a yawn.

"I am so tired and I can feel a slight headache coming on. Would you forgive me for retiring early?"

Erik was a little surprised. He had thought she might want to be there to see him off with Tom. He hid his disappointment well. He got up from the chair and kissed her hand.

"Very well, you get some rest. I promise you that in the morning when you awake, Meg will be there in the next room,"

He knew it was a bold promise, but he would move heaven and earth, or even five points to achieve it. Angelique was the closest thing he had ever had to family. He was not about to allow her daughter to come to serious harm. If the unthinkable had happened…well he did not want to think about the unthinkable, then those responsible would pay with their lives. He had not killed since the night of his opera, but he was sure that given the right motivation he could do so again.

"Thank you," she replied. "Erik, please be careful. If anything happened to you, I could not bear it. I already lost you once," she replied.

"I know how that feels," he said too softly to be heard. "Besides you did not lose me. To do so would have been a matter of great carelessness on your part," he teased.

Christine knew he was trying to make light of the situation to soothe her troubled mind, but she was having none of it.

"Please….this is no laughing matter! Meg's life is a stake as well as your own,"

"This is why I can rest easy, knowing you are safe back here at the house. I have to get changed, but I will call on you before I leave,"

Christine kissed him before she left the room. She closed the glass doors, and rested against them for a moment.

"Forgive me Erik, but as the bible says…where ever thou goest I goest, or something to that degree," She whispered to herself, before continuing on her way.

Erik however, could not shake off the feeling that she was up to something. She had purposely avoided his gaze as they had said their goodbyes. Deciding he was suffering from an overactive imagination, he shook his head in self-derision as he too exited the room and set off to find Tom.

* * *

Once alone in her room, Christine quickly undressed, folding her clothes on the chair as she stripped to her undergarments. She turned up the gas lamp to study her pale face in the mirror. The fear in her eyes was mirrored in the glassy surface of the looking glass. She could quit this madness now and tuck herself up safely in her warm bed, but she was sick of playing it safe while others risked themselves. _Was all Raoul's training to come to naught?_ Surely, an occasion such as this would test those skills and maybe aid the recovery of her friend. She could not imagine Meg just sitting at home and waiting for news if the tables were turned!

Instead of brushing out her hair as she usually did before she retired, she attempted to muss it up. Satisfied that she looked like she had not seen a brush in at least a week, Christine went about retrieving the dress from under the bed.

Luckily the dress had few buttons, most of them having been lost. She glanced down to see that she was showing an almost indecent amount of bosom. _Oh well there was nothing to be done about it now_. She decided.

The clock on the mantle struck the half hour. Erik would be here at any moment. Christine quickly pulled the sleeping cap over her hair to hide it, turned down the gas lamp and hastily climbed into bed. She could hear the sounds of approaching footsteps outside her door. She buried herself deeper into the covers. There was a light knock on the door, before it opened.

When Erik opened the door, Christine had to suppress her gasp of surprise at his changed appearance. Gone were the elegant clothes that he normally wore. In their place was a dull mud coloured suit, which looked like it had seen better days. By the cut of it, she would say at a guess the previous owner had been a couple of inches shorter than he was. He wore a black domino mask like the one he had worn on stage before she had so cruelly ripped it off. She flushed with shame at the memory, glad that the dimness of the room hid the tide of colour, which she was sure, stained her cheeks.

Erik walked over to the bed and took her hand in his.

"How are you feeling? Any better?" he asked in concern.

She glanced away, unable to meet his eyes.

"A little, yes thank you,"

Erik noted the few stray strands of her tousled hair poking out from beneath her sleeping cap. He frowned. Normally she would comb it until it shone before retiring for the night. Something wasn't right here. He moved to turn up the gas lamp and Christine felt the panic rising in her.

"Oh, no please do not turn the lights up. My eyes still hurt…"

Erik looked back at her. "Very well," He glanced at the clock on the mantle. "I must go now. Tom is waiting for me downstairs." He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Rest well; I will look in on you as soon as I return,"

"I love you," she sighed as she watched him leave.

"I love you too," he smiled, at her before he closed the door.

* * *

The moment the door was closed, Christine threw back the covers. There was little time to lose. She could already hear his fading footsteps. With a pistol tucked into the garter of her stocking and the other in her purse, she left the room and walked swiftly down the hall. Erik rarely missed anything, so she was glad she had donned her satin slippers, as they afforded her the silence she needed. The rich delicate slippers were hardly in keeping with the rest of her attire, but she prayed that no one would be looking at her feet.

Christine stopped on the last flight of steps. She could hear muted voices, recognising Erik and Tom in deep conversation. If she made a sound, they would be wise to her immediately, which was something she did most definitely not want! She leant over the banister of the iron railing and listened to their exchange.

She could see their heads bowed as she strained her ears. Christine saw Tom hand Erik two revolvers and then check his own weapons. Christine sagged in relief to know he would not be unarmed. She was not so naïve that she was unaware that he could kill just as effectively with his hands. Memories of Buquet hanging from a noose came to mind.

She felt the cold rush of air as the backdoor was opened and closed behind them. Christine ran down the remainder of the stairs and opened the door carefully, but she need not have worried as they were already striding down the road. Christine watched them until they turned the corner before following. It was easy to keep to the shadows of the poorly lit streets as she kept a reasonable distance. She did not even want to think of the consequences if she were to lose sight of them. A young woman, with only very Basic English could get herself into a lot of trouble in a big place like this.

Once or twice, Christine froze as Erik stopped and glanced behind him. As she hid, she was afraid he could see her, but the rest of her journey passed without incidence and she started to relax a little.

As Erik and Tom neared the area that five points was situated in, the adjoining neighbourhood streets were noticeably empty, as if an unspoken curfew had settled on the place. More as a means of self-preservation for the inhabitants, that lived on the outskirts than anything. The young officer of the previous day was hanging on the corner of Orange Street as arranged. He nodded to them in welcome.

"Any news?" asked Tom

"She is being held in brothel as we suspected. I got confirmation from a very reliable source. It is run by a couple who go by the names Frank and Josie McKinley. The woman is the real brains behind the operation and Frank is the muscle. That saying, they are feared around these parts and have a number of employees working for them," The officer looked at the two men and smiled. "Don't look so grim gentlemen. I come with plenty of reinforcements. There are at least ten armed plain clothed officers planted around the place,"

"Are we likely to meet with any resistance from the populace if things get nasty?" asked Erik.

Tom looked at Erik. "You are in my neighbourhood now, no one cares if the other lives or dies in this place,"

"Good, it simplifies things," Erik replied coldly.

Christine heard the words Erik had spoken before they moved on. It was a side of him she had not seen in a long while. When he was like this, he frightened her. However, she loved him entire, for his darkness and his past. They made up the whole of the man she had fallen in love with. Besides, if they had harmed Meg in anyway she was not sure she would feel so charitable towards her aggressors. The three men moved on and turned the corner and Christine followed.

* * *

Meg rubbed at the tender points of her newly freed wrists. She eyed Frank suspiciously, from where she sat on the floor. He passed her a bowl of foul looking stew. However she was so hungry, she had had nothing but water for almost three days. She was sure it had been done to weaken her spirit. Meg spooned the hot stew into her mouth, almost retching at the taste of rotten meat. She spat it out and threw the food at Frank.

He dodged the bowl easily and laughed at her. She clenched her fists in impotent rage.

"There, there missy. If you are nice to me, I might find it in my heart to bring you something a little more edible." He leered.

"I would rather starve thank you," she scorned.

The ugly smile left his face and he slapped her hard across the cheek. "They all say that at first, but pride is nothing to the ache of an empty belly," He strode over to the wardrobe and took out a filmy white nightgown. He threw it at her. "Put that on, you are to make your debut tonight,"

"And if I refuse?" she asked.

"Then I hope you can swim," he replied with relish.

"What do you mean?"

"If you don't want to find out first hand, then get dressed! You won't be wearing it long once the customers start arriving," he laughed, leaving the room.

Meg slumped back on the floor in despair. She eyed the indecent garment she was expected to wear. She struggled to stand in the shabby room as she slowly unbuttoned her blue travelling dress, which was badly torn and filthy from lying on the floor. _Was this to be her life now, for however long it was granted? _She thought of suicide, but it went against everything of her Catholic upbringing, she would be damned to an eternal hell that would far outlive this one on earth.

There had to be something she could find to defend herself. She searched the sparsely furnished room. She sighed in defeat, as she could find nothing, almost tripping as she made her way over to the washstand. She looked down to see a nail protruding from one of the floorboards. It was still shiny and out of place among the others. Meg knelt on the floor, trying to claw it out of the plank. After several minutes and bleeding fingertips, she held it in her hand. Now at least not entirely defenceless, she felt some of her old spirit return.

Meg left her clothing where it fell and walked over to the chipped basin, filled with cold water. She slowly rinsed off the filth. The carbolic soap was harsh on her skin, but she welcomed it. Anything to escape the situation she was in now. With a grim determination, she decided that she would not give in without out a fight. As soon as their backs were turned, she would escape this place one way or another, or die trying. No matter how long it took.

Meg let her long blonde hair spill over her shoulders and hang loose. Little did she know what an enchanting picture she made, clothed in white. All she could see in the mirror was the indecency of the gown she wore. It was almost pointless in wearing anything at all. Far from being a prude, even she felt shame as she looked at her reflection. It had not been made to conceal but to show the observer exactly what he was getting for his money.

Well, whoever walked in that door expecting to take her body, would get a whole lot more than he bargained for.

* * *

"Now this is how we are going to play this. Tom and I are your newfound friends. You are fresh off the boat from France. You can hardly speak a word of English. However, after a few whiskies, you admitted you were feeling a little homesick for the missus back in France. Therefore, we brought you here, as it is know for satisfying most men's requirements. Josie has quite the ego on her, so she will be too full of herself to be suspicious of our request for someone French. We have wanted to get the McKinley's for some time now, but have had little to go on. They chose the wrong victim this time,"

"How do we explain my mask?" asked Erik.

"You are shy?" chuckled Tom. He sobered up at Erik's expression. "Your mask will be hardly remarkable! You wouldn't exactly be the first patron unwilling to expose his identity,"

Erik looked at him sceptically before turning to the officer. "What about your other men?"

"They will be watching this place. If we are not out within half an hour, they are to come looking for us and use whatever means necessary. You go upstairs with the proprietor and do your bit to locate the girl. Tom and I will cause a diversion,"

"And what might that be?"

"You will know it when it happens," smiled the officer.

Erik was briefly distracted as he caught the shape of a woman trying to conceal herself in the shadows. For an instant, she looked familiar, but he dismissed the thought. Christine was safe at home and in her bed, awaiting his return. She would not be so foolish.

"Good luck Gentlemen, look sharp and watch each others backs," said the officer as they stepped forward and walked into the brothel.

* * *

From the outside, the place had not looked like much and inside was only marginally better. The place had a gaudy décor and the air smelled of sweat and cheap perfume. There were many women standing, leaning on walls. Some of them were barely clothed and by the looks of their vacant expressions, Erik would guess that most of them were opium addicts. Maybe that was how the owners kept them there. He could not save them all, not tonight at least. Meg was all that mattered now.

They were barely in the door, when a sour faced woman greeted them. She pasted on a sly smile as she weighed them up with a sweeping glance.

"Good evening gentlemen. The name's Josie and I am your hostess. What is your pleasure? I have girls of all ages…and experience. All I ask is that you pay up front,"

"Not a problem, what's the going rate." replied Tom. "My new friend Erik, here is feeling a little lonely. He is French, cannot speak much English though. The wife is all the way back in Paris. Do you have anything that could cheer him up? You know make him feel a little less homesick?"

She eyed them suspiciously for a moment and then it passed. Josie wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, considering their request. All that was going through her head was the chance to milk these strangers for a few extra dollars.

"Well I do have this new girl. She needs to be broken in. Right little hell cat too. Do you think your friend is man enough to take her on? It'll cost you extra though,"

"Believe me, from what I have seen, my friend will have no trouble with violence," Smirked Tom.

"But no bruising the goods,"

He turned to Erik and made some lewd gestures. A leer spread across Erik's face on cue, it helped to disguise the inner loathing he was feeling towards the woman in front of him. He could only hope she meant that Meg had not been molested thus far. Josie drew back a little at the coldness she saw in his eyes.

Erik took out ten dollars and handed it to her. She smiled greedily. He obviously had not yet grasped the worth of the bank notes. She was not going to complain at his mistake. She tucked the money down the front of her dress, as she motioned for Erik to follow her.

"We'll just amuse ourselves down here while we wait for you then," Tom called up the stairs to Erik before he turned the corner and was lost to sight.

* * *

Erik followed Josie up the grubby looking hallway. The place did not have the luxury of gas lighting, just a few kerosene lamps dotted here and there to break the darkness. She did not bother speaking to the client as she led him up the corridor, as she believed him unable to understand. They stopped outside a room, room 5. From the groans of pleasure that could be heard from the adjoining rooms, this seemed to be the only vacant one left.

Josie opened the door onto the room. It was bereft of any human comforts, with only a washstand and a bed. His sharp eyes scanned the room, seeing a solitary figure hunched up in the corner. Meg's pinched white face looked up at him. Her eyes widened as she saw him. Erik raised a finger to his lips and she took his meaning.

Josie turned around to look at Erik "You like?" she asked loudly, obviously thinking if she talked louder, he would somehow understand her.

He nodded and looked at Meg.

"Good, you get half an hour. Anymore is extra," she shouted at him.

She closed the door on them and Meg got up from the floor and ran into Erik's arms. He was surprised by her gesture. She was shaking, as she sobbed against his chest.

"We had best speak in French at least they will not understand us. Tom is downstairs with a police officer. There are several stationed outside. Tom and the officer are going to cause a diversion. That is when we are going to make our move,"

"The woman…Josie she will be watching us to see if I am behaving myself. There is a hole in the wall behind us. They think I don't know about it,"

Erik sighed and looked at her. He was afraid it might have to come to this. He just hoped that Christine would forgive him, and understand.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

She hardly knew him, and certainly not like Christine, but she trusted him. It was enough for her. "Yes," she replied.

Erik glanced briefly at the wall. "Good because our audience has arrived. Just follow my lead,"

Meg gasped in shock as he roughly pushed her onto the bed and covered her body with his own. Erik pinned her wrists over her head as he pretended to kiss her neck. Meg struggled against him, completing the illusion.

This was killing him, even if it was just a big act. All he could see was Christine's sweet face in his mind as his hands roamed over Meg's body. Meg's struggles lessened as she played her part. It was strange, she had often fantasised how it would feel to be in Erik's arms, to understand Christine's attraction for him, but the reality was nothing like her imaginings. His feigned caresses, for the most part left her cold.

* * *

Christine looked at the exterior of the building. _How was she ever going to get in there?_ She looked around for a side alley. Finding only a darkened gap between the house and the next, she took it. She had not gone five paces, when she felt the presence of someone else close behind her. His breathing, heavy and laden with whiskey, wheezed in her ears.

She turned around to see an unshaven middle-aged man, look at her hopefully. Christine swallowed down the bile that rose to her throat as he started to undo his trousers.

"Come on love, how much for a go?"

Christine opened her purse, took out her pistol, and aimed it at his chest. He held up his hands and backed away slowly.

"Just asking," he mumbled before he ran off into the night.

She edged further along the narrow passageway until she came to a door. It was broken in several places and she could see inside the house. The room that it led on to seemed to be deserted. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle, surprised to find that it opened. The stench of the place caught her off guard for a moment, as she pressed a handkerchief to her face.

The sound of approaching voices caused her to crouch down in a corner until they had faded. Knowing she could not stay there all night, she took her chances and walked out into the dim hallway. If she could just make it to the stairway without being seen then she stood a chance. Most of the inhabitants of this nightmare were too busy in one way or another to notice, as she placed her foot on the first step and took a breath….

Frank McKinley watched the strange girl's progress with interest. He was unused to seeing girls trying to get into this place, usually quite the opposite. She was undoubtedly up to no good. His eyes fell on the white satin slippers she wore on her feet. _It would take a month laying on her back to pay for those. She was no whore._

_  
_He waited until she was almost at the topmost stair before following her.

* * *

Christine made her way gingerly along the hallway. _How would she know what room to find Meg in?_ On closer inspection, she saw with relief that each door had a keyhole. No doubt to keep the girls in…She knelt down and looked in the first keyhole, gasping and quickly moving on to the next one. She had almost run out of doors to look through until she came to the last door. Christine had almost given up hope, when she squatted down and looked through the last keyhole.

Meg was lying on a bed. A man was on top of her, running his hands up and down her barely dressed form. Christine reared back in shock and fell on the floor as she caught the unmistakable glimpse of a black mask.

TBC


	15. The Fires of Hell

A/N I want to apologise for the length between updates, some of you might have read of my PC crash, which wiped out all of chapter 14, which I then had to re-write. I am also not a very well person, health wise and I have been sick, but anyway here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Forget me not- Chapter 14

The Fires of Hell

Christine sat on the hard floor, immobilised with disbelief. Her heart raced within her breast as the scene replayed in her mind a thousand times. Erik and Meg had been on a bed. He had been touching her…willingly. She had to be wrong…he loved her.

She sucked in a painful breath as she struggled to her feet. A hand covered her mouth, cutting off the scream that rose to her lips. She was scooped up from the floor as if she were weightless and held fast in powerful male arms. Christine tried to escape his grasp, but he was too strong for her. He grunted with pain as her elbow connected with his ribs. She tried to kick him as he dragged her into a vacant room and closed the door behind them.

Her unknown assailant threw her on the bed. Christine opened her mouth again to scream, only to be rewarded with a hard slap that sent her flying against the wall. As her head connected with the headboard, the room started to spin. She felt the bile rise in her throat at the threatening sickness. However, she refused to give into it. The man took advantage of her momentary weakness and pinned her to the bed. _Was she to be raped? _

"Monsieur…please!" she begged. "Let me go,"

"Another Frenchie? Seems to be a lot of them around tonight," he sneered.

"Don't hurt me, or…or…"

"Or you'll what?" he asked. He tore her purse from her fingers and searched it. Christine watched at he rifled through the contents. Frank smiled in satisfaction as he took the small revolver from it, tucking it into the back of his pants. "Let's see what else you are hiding," he threw the purse to the floor.

Christine closed her eyes as his hands touched her body, lingering on her breasts. She let out a sigh of relief, soon to be quashed as he thrust a hand up her skirts. She needed not have worried, his touch was cruel and impersonal as he located her second pistol and tore it from the garter. Just as she thought her ordeal was over, his hand rested on her thigh, stroking it. The sickness of earlier returned and Christine prayed for oblivion.

"Frank!" screeched a female voice.

He cursed and got up from the bed. "Not again! What does she bloody want now? That woman always spoils my fun. I am sure she has a sixth sense," He muttered incomprehensibly to himself.

He turned his attention back to Christine. I'll deal with you later,"

Christine watched as he exited the room. Her spirits sank lower at the sound of a key being turned in the lock. She got up from the bed, nursing her aching head. She swayed unsteadily as she made her way over to the door and tried the handle, but the door would not shift an inch.

* * *

Erik hid his face in the curve of Meg's shoulder, silently wishing the charade to be over. No matter how innocent the circumstances, Christine was foremost in his mind, it felt like a betrayal. He had remained coldly impersonal with the woman in his arms. If he were to put a name to it, it felt as if she were family. He remembered as clearly, as if it were yesterday, when as a young boy, Angelique had shown him her newborn daughter.

Meg touched his head and he looked up at her. "That evil woman has gone now,"

Meg felt a little stab of female pride bite her at the look of intense relief on his face. He got up from the bed and straightened his clothing. She could not help the little smile that curved her lips as she watched him. She wondered at Christine's fascination for him. She too had glanced what lie beneath that black mask, she had been shocked by it, but not repulsed. However, he seemed cold in his touch and she, for the life of her could not imagine him driven wild by passion. Nevertheless, Christine loved him and Meg was in no doubt that it was reciprocated.

"Please forgive the imposition mademoiselle, if there had been any other way…"

Meg could tell by his stilted words that apologies were an alien notion to him, as if he had had little practise at it.

"I understand, and I know where your heart truly lies," She glanced at his profile. "You could try calling me Meg, especially after we shared a bed…" She wasn't quite sure what devil drove her to tease him.

He had gone back to his distant formality of before, as he paced the room, restlessly. Her humour was ignored.

"What is keeping Tom?" he sighed.

Meg wrinkled her nose. "Is it my imagination, or can I smell…"

"Smoke," Erik cut her off mid sentence. "What kind of game is he playing?"

Screams and cries of Fire, and the sound of running feet were everywhere. Chaos ensued as the inhabitants began to desert the place, like rats on a sinking ship. Erik held out his hand to Meg. She watched in horrified fascination at the fingers of smoke that had started to creep under the door.

"Come, this place will go up like a tinder box. Take my hand and I will lead you through it. Do you have anything to defend yourself?" he asked.

Meg quickly went over to the bed, and retrieved the vicious looking nail she had hidden under the pillow. Erik allowed himself a quick smile before opening the door. Smoke belched into the room, causing Meg to choke. Erik tore a strip from the bed linen and passed it to her to cover her mouth. She took his hand and he led her down the smoke filled corridors. The noise of the fire and of those fleeing it was horrendous. Men and woman, in all states of undress were running up and down the passageways.

They had almost reached the stairs, when they were intercepted by Tom.

"Is this your idea of a diversion?" Erik asked.

Tom looked uncomfortable.

"The officer and I staged a fight downstairs. Didn't know me own strength and knocked a lamp over in the fracas. Anyhow, can't stand around here talking, if in case you haven't noticed the place is on fire," His eyes sparkled as he looked at Meg and gave her a cheeky smile.

"What of the McKinley's?" asked Erik.

"Got them, both are in handcuffs outside. They were the first to leave of course,"

"Good, because I want to give those two a piece of…my mind," said Meg as she marched past the two men.

As the men trailed in Meg's angry wake, Tom's look of admiration was not lost on Erik.

Meg marched out through the front door, jostled by those still escaping. She almost lost her balance, but Tom was there to steady her. She smiled at him gratefully and walked over to the McKinley's. Josie had a sour look on her face as she looked at the instrument of her downfall. Crowds of people, who had lived in fear of the couple for too long, had come to watch their house burn and jeer at them.

Frank's head was bowed as he looked at the ground.

"Frank…" Meg began in the meekest voice she could muster.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes wary, now he was no longer in a position of power. She leaned forward as if to whisper in his ear. Her right knee came up at the same time and connected with his groin, hard. He paled and slumped to the ground, retching. Meg smiled and turned to leave.

"I'll have the last laugh," groaned Frank.

Meg carried on walking.

"That other French bitch will burn and what a pretty bonfire she will make," he hissed.

She stopped in her tracks. Erik caught the prostrate man's words. All colour left his face as a wave of fear clutched at his heart. He strode over to the man and dragged him up from the dirt, until he was level with him. Frank gasped as he felt the pinprick of a knife, pressing against his ribs.

As he looked into the cold, almost dead grey-green eyes of his captor, he shrank in fear. Something told him that he would think nothing of killing him, or regret it in as much as a heartbeat.

"Tell me what you mean by the other French bitch?" asked Erik, grimly.

Frank looked at him again. "The other one, the woman who thought she could pass for a whore,"

"What did she look like?" He dug the blade deeper into Frank's skin, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Tiny little thing, brown eyes, brown hair,"

"Where did you leave her?"

Frank wheezed, before answering him.

"The room opposite the one you were in,"

Erik let the man fall to the ground. It was all he needed to know. He turned back, towards the blazing house. Tom stepped in his path.

"You cannot mean to go back in there. It's suicide!"

"Christine is in there,"

"But if it's some stranger you risk your life for?"

"It's not. I have had a suspicion all evening that she might have been foolhardy enough to follow me. Now move out of my way, we are wasting precious time. Do not even think of following me either,"

Erik brushed past Tom and ran into the building. Meg came to Tom's side.

"Do you think it is Christine?"

"Who knows…this is madness,"

"Surely someone will come to put the fire out?" asked Meg.

"Look around you Miss, who in this neighbourhood actually cares?"

* * *

Christine hammered on the door, weakly. The heat was nothing like she had felt before. Sweat trickled from every pore. She coughed as the smoke penetrated her lungs. It was so much easier to lie on the floor and give in to defeat. The house was empty; no one was coming for her. She lay down on the hard floorboards. It was easier to breathe as the smoke was less thick, but the heat was merciless.

"Erik," she breathed on a painful sigh.

She closed her eyes, hating herself for her stupidity in even thinking she could have helped. She had taken his happiness from him, by coming here and putting her life on the line. She had robbed Erik of any chance of the future he deserved and she had wanted to give him. Christine cursed herself, as bitter tears streaked down her face, moments before she slipped gratefully into unconsciousness.

* * *

Erik fought his way through the smoke, the air so thick; it made it almost impossible to breathe. He held his sleeve up to his face as he tried to locate the room.

"Christine! Christine!"

He was greeted only by the sounds of the fire, and the house, as it began to disintegrate around him. Flames already poured from the room, which he and Meg had occupied only half an hour previous. The sight of it made him grow cold inside. He tried the door handle of the room opposite it. He could feel its heat through his glove.

Erik put his shoulder to the door, testing it with his weight. It would not give; the heat had warped the door in its frame, causing it to stick even more effectively.

"Christine!" he called out….

She was somewhere safe and warm. She did not want to go back to the harsh reality from which she had escaped. A far off voice in her mind called to her as it were from a dream she had had long ago, a voice that had often soothed her as a child.

"Papa?" she murmured.

"Christine, you have to go back,"

She looked into the kind, warm eyes of father.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked.

"Christine!" a harsh voice dragged her back into consciousness.

The vision of her father melted away, as she opened her eyes. "Erik?"

"Move away from the door. I need to shoot the lock,"

Christine got up on unsteady legs and stood to the side. Moments later the lock was shot from the door. It burst open as Erik kicked it. She ran to him, and wrapped her arms around him. Christine was too relieved to see him, to notice that he did not return the pressure. She pulled away and looked up at him, wincing at the coldness she saw in his eyes.

"I am so sorr…" she began.

Erik pushed her roughly out of the way, covering her body with his own, as part of the ceiling collapsed, and gave way, narrowly missing the both of them. He was the first to recover, getting to his feet; he held out a hand to Christine and helped her up.

"There isn't much time,"

He took her hand and led her from the room and into the hallway. They hurried down the passageway until they had reached the stairs…or what was left of them.

"We are trapped, there is no way out! This is my entire fault,"

"Blame will not save us now. Tell me, did you observe any back way or yard to this place upon entering?"

"The-there was something I noticed, it would be on the far side behind the house, but we are on the first floor. We cannot jump, it would be suicide,"

"Let me be the judge of that,"

They went back down the corridor, until Erik found a room, yet to be touched by the blaze. He tried a window to find it had been nailed shut. He took a chair and threw it through the window. He smashed the rest of the glass from the frame. He then dragged the thin mattress from the bed, along with the pillows and threw them out of the window.

Christine walked over to the window and looked over the edge.

"I can't do it…I have been afraid of heights ever since I was little,"

"Do you want to die? The fire is not far behind us. You had the nerve to come here, now find it to jump Christine," he demanded. He held out his hand. "I will be right behind you, I promise,"

She shivered at the emotionless tone of his voice, but she took the hand he held out to her, as he helped her onto the ledge. A wave of nausea came over her again and her head ached from her earlier injury. Christine took a breath and jumped. She felt as if she were falling forever, until her body made contact with the mattress. It did little to cushion the blow. Her body would be a mass of bruises in the morning.

Christine quickly rolled off it, and waited for Erik to follow her. He stood on the ledge and leapt from the burning building. Flames had caught his jacket and by the time, he had made contact with the mattress it was ablaze. Christine grabbed a pillow and beat out the flames. She sent a silent prayer of thanks, when she saw that the material had not burned right through to the flesh.

She frowned, he had not moved since he had landed on the mattress.

"Erik?"

With some difficulty, she rolled him over onto his back. It was then, that she noticed a dark stain spreading across the front of his shirt. A shard of glass, protruded from his side. She was wretched with the knowledge that this was all her fault. If he were to die…she could not complete the thought.

"Erik?" she whispered. There was the sound of screaming, it took her several moments before she realised that it was her own. She was silenced as he opened his eyes to look at her.

"You're safe?" he asked.

"Yes,"

"Good," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Erik!"

She leaned forward and put her head against his chest, relieved to still feel the slow, but steady thud of his heartbeat. They were still too close to the building for safety. Christine was afraid to move him, for the fear of causing further injury, but it had to be done. She tugged at the edges of the mattress, and slowly dragged him away from the fire. It was slow progress, his weight almost too much of a match for her strength. When he was far enough away, she left him for a moment, to find a means of help.

The only exit from the yard was through the narrow passageway, that she had used to get here. That was now blocked with falling debris from the fire. She called out for help, but no one could hear her.

Christine went back to his side and she lay next to him. She gently cradled his head on her arm, while she prayed someone would find them and soon. She looked at the fragment of glass, buried deep in his side and the blood that seeped out around it. There was so much of it. Her tears fell down her face to drop onto Erik's face. Christine looked up at the house, just in time to see the roof collapse in on its self.

"Don't die, I love you," she pleaded to the man in her arms.

* * *

"No!" Meg screamed, as she saw the house in front of her fall apart. Sparks flew high into the air as the roof caved in. "Christine!"

She ran towards the building, but Tom grabbed a hold of her. "Don't be so foolish, they are gone,"

The words tasted like ashes in his mouth as he uttered them. The fire climbed higher into the night sky, taking with it, the only man, who had ever cared enough to save him. Meg turned to him and sobbed into his shoulder. Tom looked on as the horse drawn fire truck appeared on the scene.

"Too late," he groaned as he held onto Meg.

Most of the earlier crowd had started to disperse as more police arrived on the scene. The McKinley's were dragged away on a police wagon, but not before Frank had smiled at Tom, smugly. Tom felt the old anger, swell in his chest, but the sobs of the woman that leaned on him, reminded him, he had a more important duty to carry out.

"Come, let me get a cabbie and take you home,"

"No, I want to stay, just in case,"

Tom looked down at the stubborn set of her mouth, knowing that she would not take no for answer,"

"Very well,"

He led her over to the curb on the other side of the road and sat her down. Tom noticed for the first time, that she was shivering. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders. Meg was grateful for the warmth and the protection it offered her, as she sat numbly and watched the men putting out the fire.

She did not know how long she had sat there, but night slowly gave way to the grey cold dawn and at last, the fire was out. A blackened ruin remained. The last hope drained from her body, as she slowly got to her feet.

"Let's go," she said quietly. Her face pale.

Tom nodded and followed her, glancing one last time at the wreck. There was a cry from one of the firefighters.

"We've found something!"

"What is it?" yelled one of his comrades.

"In the yard, a man and a woman,"

"Are they alive?"

"I don't know, someone fetch a doctor,"

"It's them, I know it's them!" said Meg, her face animated with fresh hope.

TBC


	16. Picking Up the Pieces

Chapter 15

Picking up the pieces

"Stay here Meg, I will go see what this is all about," said Tom, as he ran across the road.

Meg watched him as he went, irritated. She was certainly not going to stay here when Christine may need her. She waited until he had turned the corner and she marched straight after him.

A narrow passageway had been cleared of debris and the fire fighters had managed to squeeze through it to the rear of the property. It was there that Tom found Erik and Christine, the latter half-frozen, as she had draped her jacket over Erik in an attempt to keep him warm. Tears fell down her face as she saw Tom. One of the fire fighters returned with a couple of blankets and handed them to Christine. She put them carefully over Erik, tenderly kissing his soot stained cheek.

"Is he…?"

"He's alive, but barely. He has lost a lot of blood," Christine pointed to the dark stain on the ground.

She lifted the blanket to show Tom, Erik's injury. He sucked in a breath.

"The doctor has been sent for,"

"This is all my fault, if he dies I will be to blame," she said dully.

"Christine!" called out Meg.

Both heads turned. Tom shook his head. "What is it with you women? Can't obey a simple order? What if there had been something truly terrible back here?"

Meg glared at Tom. "I was willing to take my chances,"

"Oh Meg, he is hurt so bad," Christine looked up at her friend.

Meg knelt down and wrapped her arms around Christine. "He is strong, he will live. It might look worse than it actually is. A doctor has been sent for. What about you? You feel half frozen,"

"I do not care about me," said Christine.

"Yes, but he does," Meg motioned towards the inert figure on the mattress. "He risked his life for you, is this how you want to repay him?"

Christine's cheeks reddened with shame. Tom took a blanket from another firefighter and placed it round Christine's shoulders.

"I'll see if I can beg a cup of hot sweet tea from someone," he turned and left the women on their own.

"I thought I was going to die Meg, how did he know where to find me?"

"Frank grew a conscience, at knife point, I might add,"

"That ghastly man with the wandering hands?" asked Christine.

Meg arched a brow. "You too?"

They both heard a low moan and turned to look at Erik. He opened his eyes and looked around him.

"Christine?" he asked weakly.

She knelt beside him and smiled down at him, taking his hand in hers.

"I am here. A doctor is on his way. Everything is going to fine," her voice trembled over the last words.

"You always were bad at lying," he smiled, closing his eyes again.

Tom returned with a chipped cup, the steam rising from it in the early morning air. Christine raised Erik's head a little. He sighed and opened his eyes again. With her free hand, she took the tea from Tom, and sipped at it to make sure; it was not too hot for him.

"Will you drink a little?" she asked Erik.

He opened his mouth; his lips were cracked and dry. Christine dearly hoped it was not the advent of some fever or other. Erik took a mouthful of the brew, before holding his hand up. She was satisfied that he had at least taken a little. The doctor arrived minutes later, his black Gladstone bag in hand.

"What is the problem?"

"He fell onto a shard of glass, its lodged in his side," said Christine.

"Did you remove it?" he asked.

"No, I was afraid to in case I caused further injury. Was that wrong?" Christine asked anxiously.

"No, you did the right thing miss,"

The doctor lifted the blankets to examine Erik's wound, before covering him up again.

"Now if you will all give me a little room please?" he asked impatiently. He took a stethoscope and unbuttoned Erik's shirt.

He was about to remove Erik's mask, when Christine put a hand on his to stop him. "Please Monsieur, he would not like it. Leave him his dignity at least. He has had a deformity since birth. Nothing will be achieved by exposing it,"

"Very well," The doctor began to pack away his instruments.

"Please doctor what is the verdict?" asked Christine.

"He will need to be taken into hospital. Obviously, the glass needs removing. I will send for an ambulance to take him,"

Erik opened his eyes at the man's words. "I will not be taken to some place, which will most likely end in my leaving in a wooden box. I would rather take my chances at home, with my personal physician,"

"Monsieur Devereux is a man of means. What he says is true," said Tom, proudly.

"Very well, but on your own heads be it. I will get an ambulance sent from St Margaret's to take you home at least," replied the doctor, as he got up to leave.

Tom handed him a few coins for his trouble, the old man grumbled under his breath as he took his leave. It was not more than half an hour before two men appeared with a stretcher to take Erik to the glorified horse and cart. He winced in pain as the movement jarred his side. Christine sat beside him in the cart, holding his hand. She felt every rut in the road, along with him on the journey home. He paled, but did not complain.

Finally, they arrived back at Orchard St and Tom was the first to get down from the cart to alert the servants. Patty came rushing out, her hair still in rag curlers and wrapped in a dressing gown.

"What have you been up to Mr Devereux," she tutted, as the men got him down from the cart.

"Don't fuss Patty, never had a mother who gave a sou. Don't need one now," he snapped. His housekeeper's face fell and he sighed wearily. "Not at my best right now. Maybe you could send one of the servants for Doctor Evans?" he asked, closing his eyes.

She smiled again, at the thought of being useful. She trotted off to send out one of the serving boys and prepare Erik's bed for him.

* * *

Erik had been deposited none too gently on the bed, by the men from the ambulance. Patty and Christine set about removing his shabby, torn clothes of the evening before. The earlier had produced a pair of sharp scissors, declaring with disgust that the garments were unsuitable for a man of his position. As Patty cut away the material of his shirt, the faded white scars that marred his back only served to remind her of the pain he had already suffered in his life. Pain and hurt he had never shared with her, when she had asked him about them on a previous occasion he had become withdrawn and uncommunicative.

It sickened her to the stomach to think she had been the author of more suffering for him. He had told her of his poor excuse for a mother and his very first gift from her, a mask, but nothing of the life that had followed. That night in the depths of the Opera house, when he had released her after her kiss, she could only guess at the horrors that had led him to his actions. He was not that man any more, neither was she that naïve girl.

If Erik had had an ounce of strength he would have protested at being manhandled by two women, but he had slipped into unconsciousness, making their task a lot easier.

Christine was surprised that Patty had allowed her to stay, as she bathed and dressed Erik carefully. The wound was left exposed and the covers pulled up to his hips. Single women of no relation were rarely allowed to stay in the sickroom, but it seemed that Patty had guessed the intimate nature of their relationship and had made no protest in the circumstances. Both of them waited in tense silence for the arrival of the doctor.

Erik, with his mask now removed looked pale, as he rested against the pillows. Christine sat by his bedside and held his hand. It was not long before the doctor arrived. Christine had expected someone at his last prayers like the doctor from five points, but he was a fresh faced man of no more than thirty years, with a charming smile.

Erik opened his eyes at the doctor's arrival. Judging by the man's reaction to seeing Erik unmasked, this was not the first occasion he had seen him so. Patty got up and left, signalling to Christine that she should follow suit. However, Erik had other ideas as he put a restraining hand on Christine's arm.

"Stay?"

Christine nodded. She knew she owed him that much, including her life and a whole lot more. The doctor went over to the washbasin, removed his jacket, and rolled up his shirtsleeves before soaping his hands and drying them with a towel. He opened his case of instruments. He clucked at the sight of the seeping wound.

He shook his head at Erik. "What have you been up to this time?" he asked.

"The usual Charles, rescuing the damsel in distress," Erik replied, drawing in a sharp breath as the doctor prodded at the wound.

"Well, the good news is that it looks a lot worse than it is. No major organs damaged, but we have to get that bit of glass out of you,"

"I knew that old sawbones who first attended me was exaggerating. Is it going to hurt?" asked Erik.

"Like the devil," Charles replied. He opened a bottle and dabbed alcohol around the wound, before taking something from his case. "Now I am going to do this quick, best to get it over with. Would you like a shot of morphine for the pain?"

"No," Came the curt response.

"I thought not. Okay on three…."

Christine looked at Erik, she bit her lip trying not to cry, and knowing all he now suffered was because of her own stupidity. Tears would be the last thing he would need to see at this moment.

"Ready?" asked the doctor.

Erik nodded.

"Three,"

"Mon Dieu!"

"Never said I played fair," The doctor pressed fresh gauze to the wound, to stem the blood flow. "A couple of stitches and some bed rest will have you as good as new. No strenuous activities for at least a week," He glanced at Christine, amused to see her blush at his implications.

"Madame, could you fetch me some hot water, please?" asked the doctor.

Christine nodded and left the room.

"Well, finally found someone to take you on?" asked the doctor, now they were left alone. "You managed to move on?"

"She is Christine Daae, or was," Erik replied.

"Ah, I see and what of her husband?" replied the doctor.

"Recently Widowed and under my protection,"

The doctor raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Jesus, Erik I heard you sustained your injury at five points. What the hell were you doing there?"

"Like I said, saving the damsel, it just turned out there was two of them," he sighed wearily.

"Let me guess, she followed you, when you told her to wait here? Women will want the vote next! Imagine that! This world is changing. They used to be happy to sit at home and take care of their men folk. If that were my Elise, I would be as mad as Hades right now,"

"There will be reparation for tonight's little adventure, but for now I am too tired to care," replied Erik.

"A couple of stitches and you will be right as rain,"

The doctor removed the needle and thread from his case, sewing up the ugly gash in Erik's side. He just finished off the last stitch, when Christine re-entered the room. She placed the bowl of hot water on the side and sat back down at Erik's bedside. As the doctor packed away his instruments, she quickly realised that it had been a ruse of the doctor's to get her out of the room while he worked on Erik's wound, uninterrupted.

He pulled the covers up over the sleeping man and nodded to Christine, before leaving the room. She followed him out.

"What can I do for him doctor?" she asked.

"Plenty of rest and fluids Madame, let nature take its course. Bathe the wound with salt water. However, any sign of infection, then send for me at once," he turned to leave, before glancing back to look at her. "I am sorry to hear of your loss," added, before walking off down the hall, whistling to himself.

Christine wasn't sure if it was her exhausted mind or not, but his parting words had sounded like a criticism to her. She knew she would be the butt of censure from some who knew she was a widow, and certainly one not of the required twelve months mourning. Well it was her business, hers and Erik's. However, she could only guess that Erik had informed him of her status, that he would reveal that so openly to another hurt her a little. Christine returned to the bedroom and Erik's side, his even breathing told her that he was now asleep.

She curled up into the bedside chair and wrapped a blanket over herself, and closed her eyes, but try as she might, sleep would not come.

* * *

At some point, she must have finally fallen asleep, as she had vague recollections of Patty leaving her a tray of food, before seeing to Erik's needs. It was now full night and the room was dark except for one lamp on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn, but still little slivers of moonlight managed to streak in. It was several moments before she became aware that Erik was watching her from where he lay in the bed.

"How are you feeling?" her voice came out thin and reedy. She was glad the gloominess concealed the shame written in the blush of her face as she looked at him.

"Like someone ran me through with a piece of glass," he replied dryly.

"Would you like a spoonful of laudanum for the pain?"

"No, I can endure it. There are worse hurts, ones that run deeper than the flesh," Erik said, looking at her intently.

She could not mistake the meaning of his words; tears sparkled in her eyes and threatened to fall. He was right, there were worse hurts, her following him to the brothel had been a betrayal of sorts, and a mistake of such magnitude they had both almost paid for it with their lives.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked.

"What do you mean by go?"

"Leave here…all I have ever done is cause you pain. I am destructive…poison. Maybe you would be better without me. I can see you have made a life for yourself, with people you trust. Which is something that I can obviously not be…I almost got you killed last night!" her voice cracked on her last words.

"You still do not understand, do you," he said quietly. "All this you see about you, it's an illusion. I live among these people, I even have affection for them, but it is not really living. For the past thirteen years I have done little more than exist,"

"I don't understand," she said.

"No, you wouldn't would you," he sighed wearily. "You were too busy being a rich man's wife to give me more than a passing thought,"

"That's not true! There wasn't a day when you were not in my thoughts!"

"Like a stray dog, something to be pitied! You obviously think so little of me, that you thought me unable to save your friend. If you think that removing yourself from my life would be a kindness then I have no more words," He turned his face away from her as if unable to look on her any longer.

His action cut her to the core.

"I will send Patty to watch over you. If you need me, you can let me know through her,"

Christine hated leaving him like this, and she knew his anger towards her was justly deserved. Nothing could be achieved while he was in this dark mood. Hopefully he would sleep most of the night away and they could continue their discussion on the morrow. She closed the door on him and walked down the stairs, only to be intercepted by Meg. She looked much improved from their last encounter, her blonde hair pinned atop her head and a fresh gown. A slight bruise marred the perfection of her skin, but no other outward appearance gave hint to her recent ordeal.

"Christine, I was just coming to find you,"

"Well here I am," said Christine, shortly. She still had had no explanation for what she had witnessed at the McKinley's and in a way a part of her was not sure that she wanted to know. She knew she had been untowardly hostile towards her best friend, and her cheeks warmed with shame. "I am sorry Meg; I am a little tired,"

Meg reached out a hand to touch a tender spot on Christine's face. The dark bruise highlighted on her cheekbone in stark contrast to the paleness of her face. It was almost the twin of her own. "Aren't we all? Frank was a bit too ready with his hands wasn't he," Meg stated. She quickly changed the subject as if unable to dwell on it. "Have you eaten? That Patty fusses like a mother hen. She has some soup in the kitchen if you are hungry,"

"Fine, I need to speak with Patty anyway,"

The women locked arms and walked down the stairs together in companionable silence.

* * *

Christine lay on the bed in her and Meg's apartments. The moon was high in the sky and it was close to midnight, but still sleep eluded her. Meg was already fast asleep in the next room, which she knew because she had already looked in on her. The guiltless always did sleep soundly. She restlessly paced the polished floorboards.

She went to her valise, which was stored under the brass bedstead. She took it out and put it on her bed. Opening it Christine took out the cameo of herself, the one that Erik had dropped in the library back at her old home in France. Opportunity had still not presented itself for her to return it to him. She shivered, so much had happened since Erik had come back into her life. Raoul and all the memories they had shared seemed like they had been lived by another person.

An urgent knock at the door, jolted her from her reverie and had her racing to open it, her heart in her mouth. A young serving girl stood there, shivering in the cold of the hallway.

"Is it…."

"The master has been having nightmares…he called for you,"

Christine was so taken with relief for a moment, before her mind registered the girl's words. She reached for her wrap and followed the young maid out of the room. They hurried down the darkened corridors, only the girl's lamp to light their way. They reached the door to Erik's bedchamber, the girl knocked before opening the door, allowing Christine to enter the room first. She set the lamp down on a dresser and bobbed a curtsey before leaving.

"What is it Patty?"

"I am not sure, but I think he may be running a fever," She placed a hand against his forehead.

Christine walked over to the bed and felt his face. It was damp with perspiration. "He does seem a little warm. The doctor said if there were any sign of fever, then we should call for him at once,"

Patty got up from her chair. "I will send one of the grooms out at once," The older woman hesitated. "He has been rambling, such strange things, I cannot make head nor tail of them,"

She frowned as Christine pulled back the bedcovers.

"What are you doing girl? He needs to be kept warm so that we can sweat the fever out of him," said Patty.

"I nursed a sick husband for several months before I came here. The sweating never helped. Neither did such outdated remedies such as bleeding," said Christine, bitterly. "We need to get his temperature down,"

Patty mumbled something under her breath before leaving the room to locate someone to go for the doctor. Christine started as a strong hand shot out to grasp her wrist.

"Christine?"

She looked at him; his eyes were wide and wild.

"I am here," she tenderly touched his face, he reared back from her in shock.

"You are not leaving me?" he asked.

"No,"

"It is just that Raoul…I saw you kissing him on the rooftop. You do not love me anymore,"

Christine frowned. "You are not making any sense Erik, rest, do not speak. You will tire yourself out needlessly,"

She sat next to him and continued to hold his hand. The fever must have taken hold quicker than she thought, as she listened to his almost incoherent ramblings of events that had happened long ago. Patty had warned her that he had been talking of things… he closed his eyes for a moment and she thought he had fallen asleep again, until he began to speak, muttering at first before growing more intelligible.

"Please do not beat me anymore….I promise to be a good boy….please Vosho, I will make the crowd happy and make you lots of money,"

Christine paled. "What do you mean?"

"I am the devil's child. The gypsies fear me and hate me. I show my face and the people give Vosho money, but I am bad, I have the devil in me,"

Christine pressed on, wanting to understand, afraid he would never tell her otherwise.

"Who is Vosho?"

Tears formed in her eyes as she waited for his reply.

"The first man I killed, so that I could live. It was so easy; I slipped the rope around his neck. Then a girl with the name of an angel saved me,"

Christine could only guess to the identity of his saviour.

"Angelique Giry," she whispered. She had always wondered at their connection and Madame Giry's tendency to protect him. "Where did the angel take you?"

"She hid me in the dark where no one could see me, unless I wanted to be seen,"

A cough wracked his chest and he spoke no more, as he drifted off to sleep. Christine took out her rosary beads, knelt by the side of his bed, and said a silent prayer for him, as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

TBC


	17. Things left better unsaid

Forget me not

Chapter 16

Christine followed Doctor Evans out into the hallway after he packed up his instruments and took his leave. He turned to look at her, seeing the ill-concealed tears rimming her eyes. He experienced a tinge of compassion for the woman whom so obviously adored his friend. _God knows Erik had eaten his heart out about her enough over the year, _he thought Maybe not verbally, but the sadness he had often seen on Erik's face when looking at the miniature of her, in unguarded moments and he thought no one was watching. The doctor felt a little uncharitable in his earlier thoughts. It was time that someone else worried about Erik, besides himself and his household. It gladdened him to see it.

He handed her his handkerchief as a tear rolled down her cheek. "There, do not take on so. The fever has not reached his lungs. You already did the right thing by keeping his temperature down,"

"He has been delirious and talked…"

"Perfectly natural, if it happens again it is easier to go along with it so as to cause as little distress as possible,"

"Thank you doctor,"

He regarded her for a moment. "It seems to me that you have some experience in the sick room?" he asked.

Christine nodded. "I lost my husband to consumption not two months ago,"

"I am sorry for your loss. It is not easy to see a loved one die from such a painful illness,"

Christine looked up at him, seeing the understanding in his eyes.

"You lost someone too?" she asked.

"My mother, after that I swore that I would never be so helpless again. Your lov…er…friend helped put me through medical school,"

"Erik?" She asked in surprise.

"Yes, he had not been in America long and he rented a house from my mother. It was a modest property, nothing like the palatial mansion he has now," he joked.

"Really?" Christine was lost in her thoughts. There were so many sides to the man she loved, she wondered if she knew him at all. Philanthropist was one of the last roles she imagined him in. Although she knew, he was capable of great tenderness as well as violence, a fact she had long since accepted. "His wound…is it infected?" she asked.

"I could see no signs of it. It may be nothing more than a severe chill caught from what happened yesterday. He must take things easy for at least a week. It's going to be a hard task making him keep still,"

"I am more than ready to deal with that," They smiled at each other in understanding. "Thank you again, for everything, but I must go to him. You know the way out?" Christine asked.

The doctor smiled "I should hope so by now," he tipped his hat at her and walked away.

* * *

Christine was tired in body and in spirit. It brought back too many memories of the final days of Raoul's pain filled existence. She had watched him suffer, unable to do little to ease that torment. She closed the door on the room, glad to be alone with Erik once more. Patty had retired at Christine's insistence some time ago. She walked over to the bed and watched the rise and fall of his chest. The sight was comforting to her. She doubted she would get any more sleep this night. Instead, she sat on the edge of his bed and watched him rest.

Christine placed a hand on his forehead, gratified to find it was much cooler to the touch. Erik turned to her touch and opened glazed eyes and she wondered if he even saw her.

"Mama?" He asked. His voice sounded gruffer than usual.

Christine recoiled in shock, but quickly recovered her composure. However, she remembered the doctor's words and made no reply. It was obvious that the subject of his mother brought him far too many agonizing recollections, of a past that was shrouded in mystery. That one pain filled word confirmed it for her. She did not press him as she did before; when he had described the beatings, he had suffered as a child. Instead, she lay down next to him on the bed and gently stroked his hair.

"All I wanted was a kiss….it's my birthday…but she said no," his voice cracked.

As she lay by his side, her heart ached. Whatever demons drove him would not give him peace. The pitiful sound that came from him was almost akin to a child's sobbing. Christine turned to him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, followed by another and another. As she kissed him, the pitiable sounds lessened, he was quiet once more and fell asleep. She could only pray that he would find some calm in his dreams.

She listened to his ragged breathing, occasionally kissing his cheek, and holding his hand. She could do little else. Christine hoped that whatever he had borne in the past, he would know that he was loved now. She sighed deeply; his soul had taken so much damage, so much rejection that she wondered if even she could heal him.

Christine stayed there, reluctant to leave his side. She watched over him, as he had her, all those years ago. It was not until the grey skies of morning appeared to welcome in the new day, did she allow herself to sleep.

* * *

When Christine awoke, a hasty glance at the mantle clock told her it was noon. She was taken aback to see Erik was awake and propped up on a couple of pillows. He was watching her, his expression unfathomable. She wondered if he remembered any of his feverish revelations of the previous night, but was cautious about bringing the subject up. It was enough for her that he seemed a lot better, although there was still a flushed tinge to his normally pale complexion. His hair was in disarray, and he wore no mask, but still she felt that strong pull on her emotions as she looked at him.

She swallowed back the lump that formed in her throat at the rush of love that flooded her being. As Erik looked back at her, Christine saw his expression harden and the silence in the room grew heavy. She could feel the anger coming off him in waves and decided to hold back anything she had been about to say. She got up from the bed and sat in the chair, putting a little distance between herself and that scowl, which marred his features more effectively than any blemish of face could ever do. As she arranged her shawl around her shoulders for something to do, her hands stilled mid action as he spoke.

"I know I talked last night, and said some things…things that were better left unsaid,"

Christine looked at him, her eyes widened in surprise that he had remembered any of it.

"No… if anything it was a revelation. You tell me so little about yourself. I want to know everything…you know all there is to know about me. I told you of my life before I came to live at the opera house. You have known of my hopes and dreams and even my fears since I was a child. You gave me hope that I could be happy again after I lost my father. Let me do the same for you,"

"That may as be, but the reason I did not tell you is for the exact reason, which I can see in your face now," he sighed and looked away.

Christine got up from the chair again and turned his face back to hers.

"And what do you see there?" She demanded.

"Pity,"

"You are wrong, look again. Pity is one emotion I would not waste on you,"

Erik looked at her again, his eyes searching her face. What he read there seemed to satisfy him. His expression softened for the first time since she had awoke. Christine was glad she had broken through at least one of the many barriers he had been building around himself all his life. The only other time he really allowed himself to be vulnerable was when they were making love, and it saddened her. She wanted them to be able to share everything, to be able to reach those dark corners of his heart, which he would stubbornly keep hidden from view.

She leaned over and placed a soft slow kiss on his dry lips. She drew away and sat back in the chair.

"Fine, you do not pity me, but there were things…"

"That needed to be said, and still need to be said," By the firm set of his mouth, she knew it was pointless to pursue the subject and addressed the next one that needed discussing. "Erik I need your forgiveness for my stupidity of the other evening, but not for the sake of my own feelings. I thought I could help, but I was wrong. I cannot pretend to not know that you are very angry with me,"

"Christine, I could forgive you anything. It has long been a failing of mine, which does not seem to have lessened with time. However, your intervention could not only have cost our lives, but everyone else's involved in Meg's rescue,"

"I know," she said quietly.

"These things I do are not for my own amusement, but for your safety. You do understand that?"

"Please Erik; do not be angry with me any longer. I cannot bear it!" she pleaded.

"I am not angry Christine, I am disappointed,"

He took a deep breath, wincing as it pulled on his stitches. His faced paled several shades, and Christine went to his aid. He put out a hand to stop her, she was stung by it a little, but she knew enough to know that to ask help of anyone was a hard concept for him to swallow. Instead, she had to watch impotently as he resettled himself in the bed.

"Curse it, how long did the doctor say I had to remain in bed?" he snapped.

"A week at least," she replied.

Christine smiled to herself; he was not going to make an easy patient. However, she would be here, taking whatever verbal abuse he would very likely dish out during his confinement. She walked over to the bookshelf he had in the far corner of the room, her eyes scanning the shelves. Unable to decide, she turned back to him.

"You will need something to pass the time, any recommendations?"

A slow smile passed over Erik's face and Christine was puzzled by it.

"There on the top shelf, Wuthering Heights in English,"

The title was familiar to her, although she had not read it. She took the volume from the shelf, sat down next to his bed, and began to read aloud.

Christine had been proud of her increasing confidence of the English language, as she read him to him each day.

* * *

It was not until three days later and several chapters in, she realised his reason behind the choice of book. His growing agitation, she had put down to his being unable to get up from the bed, except for the barest necessities. That was until she began chapter seven, what she read touched a nerve inside her. It had started out as a tale of two children that were as soul mates, who overcame class and lived for nothing but the other. That love became tainted as they grew. Heathcliff had to suffer the effects of Cathy's fickle heart and her growing attraction to the young, rich and handsome Edgar Linton.

From the well-worn appearance of the book, she would guess it was a tale that had been read on many occasions and Christine began to understand why. She glanced across at Erik, and he looked back at her, his expression resolute. Somehow, in his mind, he had decided that was what had happened with them, i _but she was nothing like Catherine Earnshaw /i _ she fumed inwardly.

"Is the book not to your liking?" he asked. "I must commend you on your improved comprehension of English, you are a quick study. But do not stop there; the best parts are yet to come,"

Christine continued reading. He was trying to teach her some sort of convoluted lesson. She turned the next page, her stubborn streak resurfacing as she carried on. She refused to be daunted by it, or him, but secretly wondered how she would get through the remaining four days. An exercise that would have been purgatory except for the occasional bright visits from Meg, only then would that scowl lift from his face, but on those occasions Christine felt the burn of jealousy at the change in him. She buried her face in the book and clenched her teeth together so they would not see.

She knew she was being ridiculous, or at least she hoped she was.

* * *

On the dawn of the seventh day, Erik got out of bed lingering not a moment longer than necessary. The doctor had visited the previous evening to remove his stitches and had declared all to be well. He dressed himself, choosing to do away with the services of a valet, as many rich gentlemen favoured. His wound was sufficiently healed to give him little or no pain, not that that would have stopped him leaving the sickroom. As he donned the mask, he felt the familiar feeling of being closed in by it. For as long has he had worn it, it was one emotion he had not learned to master.

Time was advancing, it was now early May and there was much to be done in preparation for the first season of the new opera house. Precious time had already been wasted. There was only a little over two weeks until Madame Giry would be joining them in New York as well. She had sent a recent correspondence with her plans for her arrival. Meg was looking forward to being reunited with her mother. He had an important meeting with the other financiers as well as an interview to arrange for Christine. He put on his black leather gloves and after a perfunctory gaze at his reflection in the mirror, he left the room.

Tom was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and Erik smiled at him.

"How well you know me Tom. Is the carriage ready?" Erik asked.

"Of course,"

"Then let's go,"

* * *

Christine sat glumly at the breakfast table, eyeing her eggs and ham with distaste. Slightly nauseated by the contents of her plate, she instead chose to take slow small sips from her cup of chocolate. Meg watched her, smiling. She had heard on several occasions over the past few days, Christine's frustrations with Erik as well as her avowals to never read anything by one of the Bronte sisters again. It sounded as if Erik had not fully forgiven Christine for her rash behaviour. Meg understood her friend's motivation behind her actions and mused that she would have probably done the same if in a similar situation.

"He will come around Christine, you will see. All men are like little boys. They have their sulks, but they come out of it. Even men such as Erik,"

Christine peered at Meg from over the top of her fine china cup.

"Erik is so complex. There are moments that I feel I hardly know him at all," Christine sighed.

"And they say women are the difficult sex! I have given up trying to understand them. You love him and he worships the ground you walk on, time will make it better. I have often envied you Christine,"

"Me?" she asked in surprise.

Meg nodded. "I am thirty one years old and all I have ever wanted was a man to look at me the way Erik looks at you,"

"Like I am a foolish child?"

Meg shook her head, rolling her eyes at the same time.

"Like the world begins and ends with you,"

"Oh yes Erik is besotted with me, he could not wait to leave the sickroom before I arrived this morning,"

Meg sighed. "You heard Patty; he had an important meeting. I have spent a lot of time with Tom this week, he told me a lot about Erik. He has an important position to uphold. It is unrealistic to expect him to spend every waking moment with you," she scolded gently.

"But what if it hurts to be away from him?"

"Imagine how he has felt…he had to do without you for a lot longer than a few hours," Meg put her arm around her friend, to soften her words.

Christine shook her head despairingly. "See? How will we ever last? I am too selfish by far!"

"Do not be so hard on yourself Christine! He deserves that chance…you deserve it too. Now I have to get ready. Tom is taking me for a drive in the park. He said he might give me a chance at the reins too. I only have two hours to get ready and look my best," Meg smiled.

She kissed Christine briefly on the cheek and exited the room. Christine sighed and pushed away her plate, wondering how to fill the time until Erik's return. She needed an occupation. Sitting around had never suited her, even when she had been a rich man's wife. The coming season of the new opera house would be something, as long as she was accepted. Failure was too terrible to think about.

* * *

His business at the opera house had taken much longer than he had anticipated. Much work had piled up during his absence overseas. After having consumed several bottles of port and general congratulations on an opera house well built, the financiers had gotten down to the business of discussing the first opera of the season. Erik had been extremely put out to find that they had already decided on Gounod's Faust. It was an opera, which he had never been comfortable with. It just touched too many nerves. Even though he was the manager, he could do little about it. Sets had already begun to be built as well as some of the costumes in their final stages of completion. Last, but most importantly to the moneymen was the amount of capital that had already been spent on them.

He had had to smile in all the right places, although the smile never reaching his cool grey green eyes as he struggled to keep his annoyance in check. Erik almost wished he had built his own opera house and had sole control, as he had originally planned. However, even an extremely wealthy man like himself had needed the connections that his partners had brought to realise his dream. He was accepted because he was a rich man, but he was still considered new money, a problem which came with a whole set of other boundaries.

After discussing the business of Christine's upcoming audition, Erik had gratefully retreated to the solace of his office. As he opened the doors, a pair of warm brown eyes that looked down at him his sketch of her, which hung on the wall, greeted him. Not that he had ever needed any visual reminders of how she looked. His heart quickened as the realisation that no longer would he have to rely on memories alone.

He knew he had been harsh with Christine this week, but to surrender to her without a fight would teach her nothing. Everything that happened in this world was with consequence, be it good or bad. He sat down in his leather padded desk chair and poured himself a small measure of fine French brandy. He studied the amber liquid in the glass, after taking just a little sip; he got up from his seat and put on his hat and cloak. He had just a week to get Christine presentable for her audition and as much as he hated to admit it, he was missing her.

Erik left instructions to his personal assistant on his way out, and called for his carriage. There was no time to waste if he wanted to have her ready to face the financiers, and it would take more than a pretty face to impress them, although Erik was sure they would not know good tone if it were a screeching alley cat.

* * *

Christine had ended up in Erik's private study. At least here, she felt less lonely and as if he was still with her. It lessened some of the ache of his absence. The clock chimed three o'clock, making her start. She placed a hand on her chest to steady her breathing. The fire in the hearth crackled welcomingly and she was tempted to curl up in his armchair with a book, until his return. Patty would be along soon with the afternoon tea.

She had just removed a volume from the shelf, and was about to sit down, when the doors burst open. The book clattered to the floor as it slipped from her fingers. She had been expecting the portly housekeeper, but instead, it was Erik stood in the doorway. His breathing sounded heavy, as if he had been in a great hurry. Christine could not help, but watch the rise and fall of that strong chest. Her cheeks flushed as she felt the first stirrings of desire, which she had held in check for well over a week. She could tell by the answering heat in his eyes that she was not alone in those feelings.

Erik was angry with himself as his body betrayed its reaction to her. He had come home with only the express intention of singing lessons, nothing more, but seeing her standing there and caused a completely new set of intentions come to mind. He turned around and locked the study doors, and faced her again. Christine was left in no doubt of the purpose of his actions.

They met in the middle of the room, their mouths hungry for each other as his leather-encased hands circled her tiny waist. Erik was the first to pull away. Christine mourned the lost of his lips as she fought the fogginess that threatened to take all her reason along with it.

"I returned early, to give you music lessons. We only have a week to prepare you for the world,"

"They agreed to an audition?" Christine asked.

Erik nodded; he lowered his gaze distracted by Christine's fingers as they stroked along the edges of his cravat, loosening the pin, which held it in place.

"And what do you think you are doing Madame?" he arched a brow.

"I am doing what has been on your mind since the moment of your return. I remember the first time you had me sing for you in Meg's apartment, and how that particular lesson ended too,"

Erik smiled at the memory. The unbearable feel of her in his arms, the desire, which had been denied so long, and the sweet joining of their bodies afterwards. After more than a week of not being able to touch her, a couple of hours delay in her instruction would not harm, he decided. Christine smiled in triumph as he removed his jacket and laid it over the back of the chair.

"I suppose it will not harm to delay for a little while,"

TBC


	18. L'air Des Bijoux

A/N the general descriptions of the Met Opera house are what I have gleaned from the few images on the net. If they are in any way incorrect, you will have to forgive my ignorance. Happy Holidays! Note: If you wish to read this chapter uncensored, it is also at ARIA. I go by the same user name over there.

**Dedicated to my dear friend Salome, a better friend is hard to find. Love ya girl!**

Chapter 17

L'air Des Bijoux

After placing his jacket over the chair, he turned back to Christine. She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him hungrily on the lips. She drew back to look up into his eyes.

"All is forgiven then?" she asked.

"It always is," he smiled wryly.

Christine removed his mask. "You do not have to wear this anymore, you are home," she said gently, as she placed it on the fireside table.

Erik swallowed at her words. _Home was truly where the heart was_, he realised for the first time. He wrapped his arms around her and she sighed, resting her head and hands on the warmth of his chest, her fingers idly playing with the buttons of his shirt, before popping a couple and slipping her hand inside to touch his bare flesh.

Christine could smell the spice of his soap, the fragrance lingered on his skin. She breathed it in as her hand crept higher to stroke the flesh of his throat. She smiled in gratification as she heard his intake of breath at her touch. She deftly undid the rest of his shirt buttons and parted the edges.

Her hands rested on the hard planes of his stomach for a moment. Everything with Erik was so sensual, the music, the lovemaking. The passion it evoked, spurred her on to new heights and sensations. Her tongue darted out to touch his skin and he moaned low in his throat.

Christine felt his hand on the back of her neck as he undid the numerous tiny buttons that held her gown together. She glanced up as she sensed the cooler air against the skin of her back. She reluctantly removed her mouth from his flesh and stepped back so that Erik could ease the gown from her shoulders. It fell to the floor and pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it, leaving it where it fell. Her hands moved to the fastening of her corset, only to have them removed and replaced by his hands.

"I want to undress you,"

Christine did not protest as his fingers neatly worked the lacings of her undergarments. She trembled, not from the cold, but the heat inside of her as his hand rested on the waistband of her drawers for but a moment, before he tugged at the cord that held them up. The material now loosened, he never broke eye contact with her as his hand disappeared beneath the cotton fabric. Christine struggled to hold on to what coherent thoughts she still had, as she looked at him with concern and desire.

"Will it be fine for you to..?"

"Make love? My injury is healing well, would you leave me in such an agony of want for your touch?" he asked as he removed her undergarments.

Christine shook her head. She wanted this reunion as much as he did. Her own hands were busy as she slipped the shirt from his shoulders, her fingers stroking the firm upper arms. They felt so strong and wonderful; Christine drew in a breath as the enormity of the moment washed over her, the realisation of how close they had come to losing each other. She would never be as foolish, as to risk what they had, ever again.

Christine reached up again to kiss his lips, his mouth opening up to her as their tongues entwined. She unconsciously pressed herself against his body, he put a leg between hers to part them, bringing them closer still.

She was gratified as Erik momentarily lifted his head to tear away the thin material of her chemise, which covered her, to leave her naked to him. Only his pants remained. He stepped away to remove them, his hand on the fastenings. He was surprised as she did to him what he had done to her only a few minutes previously.

His face was coated in a sheen of perspiration, his features altered with desire as they kissed and touched and brought each other to the edge.

Erik scooped her up and lowered her to the rug, by the fire. He teased her with his body as he pressed himself against her. He trailed kisses along her throat before reaching her ear and nibbling at the lobe. 

Erik joined them together, making them one again. Tears rolled down her face as she climaxed. She watched as he took pleasure from her body, feeling her own responding again. Their cries of satisfaction were mutual as she clung to him.

Their breathing slowed, and even the warmth of the fire could not keep the chill out as their damp skin cooled. Erik rolled off her, pulled a blanket off the arm of the chair, and covered them both. They lay side by side, and for a little neither one speaking, just content to be in each other's embrace.

Christine's mind was still troubled about the scene she had witnessed between him and Meg; she needed to know, to set her mind at ease. She knew she was being silly, but until it was resolved, it would always be there in the back of her mind.

"Erik…there is something I need to ask you about that night at five points,"

He looked down at her, as she lay in his arms. A slight frown marred his brow, but she ignored it. Christine opened her mouth to speak, the moment was lost as there was a knock on the door and someone tried the handle.

"Mr Erik? I have brought the tea," said Patty through the door.

"Thank you Patty, could you leave it outside,"

Christine smiled as she heard the housekeeper muttering to herself as she walked off. She turned back to Erik, she could see that his mind was already on other things and she sighed regretfully.

"For your audition, I think you should sing L'air Des Bijoux,"

Christine looked up at him. "Faust?"

"It is to be the very first opera of the very first season. To perform something from it might make more of an impression. Marguerite is not a role that is unfamiliar to you,"

"Yes, but it is a long time since I sang it,"

Erik left her side, getting up to pull up his trousers. As he turned, his face twisted.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing, I am still a little tender that is all,"

"The maybe we shouldn't have…so soon,"

He smiled. "It is a little late for that now, besides the pleasure far outweighed the pain. Now on to your music lessons, do you remember the words? I have the libretto if you do not,"

"I remember them. So, on this occasion I am allowed to use French?" she teased.

He nodded, and Christine sighed as her attempt at humour fell on deaf ears. Once his mind was on the music, it almost possessed him, leaving little room for anything else.

Erik walked over to the piano, pulling out the stool, before seating himself at it. Christine wrapped the blanket around her naked form, got up from the rug, and joined him by the piano. It seemed strange, both of them there, in various states of undress, but the informality of it warmed her. As much as she had loved her husband, he had never once forgotten who he was, or his station in life, and a scene such as this would have been unthinkable to him.

Christine pushed away her uncharitable thoughts. _He had been a wonderful and loving husband…who had left her in penury. _She was almost relieved as Erik began to play. She watched his fingers as they touched the keys turning her attention back to the task. Christine took an ample breath and began to sing.

"Ah! je ris de me voir, Si belle en ce miroir! Est-ce toi, Marguerite?"

Erik stopped playing abruptly. Christine looked at him in apprehension, the hard taskmaster who had brought her to greatness once before, was once again present in this room with her now.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, biting her lip nervously.

His hand rubbed at his forehead tiredly. We are not going to leave this room until I am satisfied that we are making progress. I was moved by your performance in Meg's apartment that night, but it reminds me that we still have so much to achieve before you are ready to face the world again. I can see that I have allowed a certain amount of emotional investment, cloud my judgement to your abilities or readiness,"

"It is not my fault that Raoul did not like to be reminded of my past on the stage. I had no opportunity for practise!" she pouted.

"Do not blame others for your own neglect. I have been to your husband's home; there must have been some corner of that vast estate where you could have sung without being heard?"

Christine's cheeks reddened and she stamped her foot in frustration like a petulant child. A slow smile lifted the corners of Erik's mouth. He began to play once more. She had the feeling that he had purposefully goaded her to anger, she felt like refusing, but knew it was for her own benefit, even if some of his words had stung her, because she knew they were true.

"Now sing Madame, and this time hopefully there will be some feeling in it,"

"Ah! je ris de me voir, Si belle en ce miroir! Est-ce toi, Marguerite Réponds-moi, réponds vite! –Non! non! – ce n'est plus toi!"

He interrupted her singing once more. "Better! Now continue!"

* * *

**Six days later**

The past few days had left Christine drained and tired. The only bright spots had been the nights spent in each other's company in the parlour, and the moments of passion in his bed. Erik was every bit the hard taskmaster she remembered. The years had dulled the memory of it, but she had learned quickly.

Tomorrow morning would be the audition, and her nerves were stretched to breaking point, if she had to sing that damned Jewel song one more time, she was sure she would scream. However, today had turned out to be different. Erik had sent one of his abrupt notes from the Opera house, instructing her to dress for dinner, as he was taking her out. The thought of an outing raised her flagging spirits somewhat. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror as the maid arranged her hair.

Meg sat on the edge of Christine's bed, a dreamy look on her face.

"I wish someone would take me out to dine. Where is Erik taking you?" she asked.

"Some restaurant called Delmonico's I think the note said. You could come with us Meg," suggested Christine.

"Christine, I have no intention of being the _three's a crowd number_ in your party. Besides, you need some time away from here. Erik has worked you very hard this week. Mother will be here within a few days; maybe we can have some sort of celebration then,"

"Oh yes! I cannot wait to see Mother Giry again. Erik told me that you wished her not to know of your abduction. I will not breathe a word, you can rest assured on that matter,"

"It is my fault, he was right…I could have continued to sing even without my husband's knowledge,"

"Then why didn't you?"

"I do not know, but there was something about that night…the last time I saw Erik at the opera house…it was as if the music died inside of me. He is my muse Meg, without him there is no music,"

Meg smiled at Christine. "I haven't seen you this happy in a long time, you remind me of the Christine that I grew up with,"

Once the maid had finished arranging her hair, Christine voiced her thanks and dismissed her. She got up from the dresser and collected her purse and fan.

"Shall I do?" asked Christine.

Meg pretended to pass a critical eye over her. "Hmm, maybe…as long at the lights are not too bright in the restaurant, you will be fine," She laughed at her friend's serious expression. "You know you look beautiful!"

A firm, but impatient knock sounded at the door. Christine took a breath, which had nothing to do with the restrictions of her corset lacings.

"I know this will sound ridiculous, but I feel as nervous as a girl on her first date, not an experienced woman of almost thirty!"

"This is exactly what you both need, some normalcy," Meg smiled. "Well as normal as its ever going to be with someone such as he. It is all well and good to have a grand passion between the sheets Christine, but the relationship is what takes the real effort," Meg's mouth twisted in amusement. "Here I am giving you advice on how to keep a man and I haven't had too much success at that myself," She got up from the bed, to answer the door. She opened the door and stepped back. A mischievous smile spread across her lips. "Your lady awaits,"

Erik and Christine's eyes met across the space that separated them. Without malice, Meg knew that she might as well have been part of the furniture. She watched them leave, letting out a little wistful sigh as she walked over to the window and followed their progress to his closed carriage out on the street. From the way they had devoured each other with their eyes, Meg had a sneaking suspicion that the relationship outside of the bedroom was just as rock solid. It set her at ease, but left a dull ache in the region of her heart. Tom's kindly weathered face came to her mind.

He was not the kind of man she normally fell for, but of late, he had often crept into her thoughts. Meg was left in no doubt that, Tom admired her, but felt reticent to return any affection so soon after Luc. Another failed love affair was the last thing she needed. Besides Maman would be arriving in a few days, it was one thing to conduct affairs under the privacy of your own roof, but it would be much harder to keep that kind of thing a secret from the watchful eyes of her parent.

She took her wrap from the adjoining room and left the room, as a sharp pang of loneliness took over her. Tom would be in the kitchen playing cards with Patty and the other servants. It was one of the things she liked about him, he was in a position of power, but thought himself no better than any other of Erik's household.

* * *

As soon as the carriage arrived outside Delmonico's Christine knew it was every bit the special occasion that Erik had promised in his note. They were shown into the crowded dining room. The animated chatter slowly dwindled into silence at the appearance of the strange guest. Christine's cheeks reddened in anger. She put her hand on Erik's arm and led him proudly through the dining area as they followed the maître d'. He led them to a private dining area; a fine candlelit room was set with the finest china and silver. However, Christine saw none of it as she felt her earlier anger rising again. 

"Why do we not have a table with all the other diners? Are we not good enough for the elite of this establishment?" She demanded.

The maître d' looked decidedly uncomfortable. "But Mr Devereux instructed that…"

Erik placed a bank note in the flustered man's hand. "I will deal with this, if you would leave us for a moment. We would appreciate the wine, my usual and some water,"

The man nodded, took the money and left in almost indecent haste.

"Erik, I refuse to eat at this place, if you are not good enough for them…"

He smiled at her outrage of his supposed ill treatment.

"Christine, calm yourself. You must not strain your voice," he said a little more firmly. "The man was only following my instructions. I asked for a private room for us. You thought he was ashamed to have us as his patrons?"

Christine's cheeks reddened again as she realised her error. "You can hardly blame me. I saw how all those people looked down their noses at you as we entered the restaurant. I know that look well; I often endured it from Raoul's relatives at social gatherings,"

"And we will have to endure it some more yet, ma petite. Get used to it, I have," he added, a hard edge creeping into his voice. He walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and seated Christine, before taking the place across from her. "You will have to endure a lot more, especially when word gets around that the freak in the mask has a female companion,"

"Erik!" she warned angrily, at his choice of words.

"I am sorry if I am a realist, I know what they call me. Remember I have a knack of observing my surroundings. It is what has kept me alive so far, my wits are all I have,"

"Not all you have," she reminded him gently.

Christine was silent for a moment, lost in her own thoughts as his words sank in. He had reigned at the opera house, very little had gotten past his notice…Raoul…their secret engagement...the rooftop. It seemed at least he had become more tolerant of gossip. Those who offended him in the old days had a rumoured habit of meeting with accidents.

"My being here, it hasn't made things any easier for you, has it?" She asked.

Erik frowned. "But it has. Before you came back into my life, it was something to be borne rather than lived. I can endure those stares and whispers all the easier because I have you by my side. The indifferent face I present to the outside world is just another mask I wear. Only you see the reality and I am not just talking about my unfortunate face. We all wear masks Christine, in our own way, but enough of this melancholy chatter. I brought you out here tonight to reward you for all your hard work these past few days,"

Christine smiled at him. They were the first real words of praise he had given her all week, and she had begun to fear that she was disappointing him in some way.

"Do you really think so?" she asked eagerly.

"I am not one to bestow unjustified praise," he returned. He studied her countenance, his heart twisting in his breast as he witnessed the youthful enthusiasm on her face, so reminiscent of many years ago. For a moment, it erased the loneliness that had been his for so long.

She smiled at him, the warmth of it reaching her eyes and soothing the ache within his breast. He was surprised as she leaned over the table to kiss him briefly on the lips. "Thank you," she said, seating herself back in her chair just as the waiter appeared with the wine and a carafe of water.

The man poured a little into a glass and Erik tested it, before nodding his acquiescence. The waiter filled his glass and was about to do the same for Christine, when Erik placed a hand over her glass.

"None for the lady, she has an audition tomorrow, we cannot risk the alcohol tainting her voice,"

Christine sighed. She would be glad when this cursed audition had taken place, her nerves were already red raw in dread of the next day, but at least her fate would be decided. A little sip of the wine would have calmed her, but she knew Erik was right, tomorrow she would need to give it her all if she were to make a good impression. There was at least the consolation that there was one activity she could engage in without fear of the ruination of her voice. A slow smile spread across her lips as she raised the glass of water to make a toast.

"To the night, let the morning take care of its self,"

They chinked glasses and she took a swallow of the tasteless water as she watched him savour the wine, enviously.

* * *

Next Morning

"Christine the ruby gown looks just fine. If you do not hurry, you will be late. I can hear Erik pacing outside in the hallway now. He will wear the floor tiles down with it!"

Christine pinched her cheeks in an attempt to bring some colour to them. She grabbed her drawstring purse and Meg followed her out of the door, they almost took the stairs at a run. Erik was waiting at the bottom stair, a scowl on his face as he looked pointedly at the gold watch from his waistcoat. He held out his arm to Christine and she took it, almost having to run to keep up with his long strides.

Tom and the carriage were waiting outside. The driver opened the door and took out the step, while Erik gave Christine his assistance to alight the vehicle. Tom and Meg joined them, sitting opposite on the comfortable seats. Erik banged on the roof with his silver-topped cane and they were off. Christine shivered, and it was nothing to do with the sharpness of the early morning.

Erik took one of her hands in his. It was icy to the touch.

"You did not wear your gloves," he chided.

"There was not time,"

The journey to the Met was much too short for Christine's liking. As the carriage pulled up outside the plain grey, almost utilitarian building, she was disappointed by its appearance. She quickly hid it, but not quickly enough for Erik. He smiled at her ironically.

"It's not the Opera Populaire," he stated. "However do not judge a book by its cover,"

The coach door was opened; Erik got out and helped Christine onto the sidewalk. She gazed up at the imposing building before he took her arm and led her into the entrance hall. The huge expanse of marble floors and sculptures that dotted the foyer was as grand as any that had been at the Opera house in Paris. A couple of the financiers were already gathered in the hall to greet them. Christine pasted a smile on her face and hoped her nerves would not betray the terror she felt at performing in public again, even to such a small audience.

Erik led her through to the auditorium and up the steps to the stage. Christine looked around her in awe. It was almost twice the size of the Opera Populaire. She did not want to think how many people it could seat. She was surprised to notice a full orchestra in the pit, only expecting a piano accompaniment and had a suspicion it had been Erik's doing. Erik walked off the stage and she stood there, suddenly feeling very alone as she watched him seat himself with the other men.

"When you are ready Miss Daae…" said a portly gentlemen, in between puffs of his fat cigar.

Christine glanced nervously at Erik. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, to which she replied. The music started and Christine took some calming breaths and on her cue began to sing.

TBC


	19. Shadows of the Past

A/N Sorry this took so long, I am very sick at the moment, so it's a miracle its here at all. I have never left a story unfinished and I am not about to start now lol.

Chapter 18

Shadows of the Past

Erik sat forward in his seat, unable to relax, tension filling every muscle of his body as his fingers tightly gripped the armrests. He began to loosen up, as Christine got further into her song. Her voice had started reedy and thin, but as the song had progressed, she had built in confidence and tone.

As her final words died away, Christine's attention was distracted for a moment as a slow, almost mocking applause, started from the back of the theatre. But was soon drowned out by the thunderous clapping of the others present at her audition. However, it had been long enough for her to glimpse the young man, reclining against one of the pillars with an almost bored expression on his face.

Erik knew the performance had been good, but also knew she was capable of much better. It had worked on their side that the backers had little musical experience, just as he had hoped it would. He held out his hand, assisted her down the steps of the stage, and led her over to meet the others. The young man of earlier had moved from his position and seemed to be almost waiting for something. There was something in his gaze, which made Christine feel uncomfortable. The introductions were made and Christine flushed with pleasure at the compliments showered on her.

When she had been on the stage, it had hit her hard, how much she had missed this…the audience, the power to move people with the sound of your voice. Just to be up there, was as if being transported to another world.

"Wonderful performance Miss Daae. I hope you will consider the part of Marguerite. Monsieur Devereux will draw up the necessary contracts,"

After having her hand kissed, by all the eager males involved, Erik placed his hand on the small of her back, in an unconscious act of possession. He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, little words of praise. His breath fanned the sensitive skin as he spoke to her quietly. Christine reacted to the sensations and wondered if the fire in her blood would ever cool over the years. With a little, private smile, she knew that it would not.

"Christine, I wish to introduce you to your Faust, Mr Berto Polletti. You can meet the other members of the company tomorrow, when we begin rehearsals,"

Before he could complete the introductions, one of the other managers took Erik to one side to discuss business. Christine looked at the man, who had mocked her earlier. Now he was out of the shadows, she could observe him better. He was not as young as he had first seemed, maybe only a couple of years younger than she was. His tanned skin and almost midnight black hair, spoke of Mediterranean heritage, but his voice when he first spoke was that of an American, born and bred.

"A charming little act Miss Daae,"

She felt something cold turn in her stomach as he took her hand in his and lowered his head to kiss it. The feel of his lips on her, made her skin crawl. It took all of her skill as an actress to hide her aversion. It was not until that moment, that she realised in her haste, she had forgotten to don her gloves. She took them from her drawstring purse and put them on.

Something told her by the slight curve of his lips that he knew the effect he had on her. No man had moved her to disgust so instantly, on so little acquaintance since Rene De Chagny. A high colour graced her cheekbones as she fastened the little buttons of her gloves at her wrists.

"What an odd choice of words Monsieur Polletti, I assure you it was no act, but sung from the heart,"

His self-assured smile broadened, causing a strong dart of irritation to prick at her senses.

"Let us not stand on ceremony, you may call me Berto, most of the ladies do,"

"I am sure they do," she mumbled under her breath. "I am however, not most ladies. Monsieur Polletti, will suit me just fine,"

"As you wish," He made a slight bow to her.

Erik made his excuses and returned to Christine's side, his hand resting lightly on her forearm.

"Thank you Monsieur Polletti that will be all. We will see you here for rehearsals at nine,"

Erik had already dismissed the man from his attention, as he held out his arm and Christine took it. He bent his head to whisper in her ear.

"Come; let me take you away from the hordes,"

Both were unaware that a very keen pair of deep brown eyes watched them until they were out of sight.

* * *

The heels of Christine's laced boots clicked on the shiny marble floors. Everything was so new and fresh, the tang of paint, and wood, strong in the air, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

Erik turned to smile at her wryly.

"Do not fret; I have no need to take you below stairs anymore. Not that we do not have a very fine basement facility," Erik smiled at her look of alarm. "You are mine," he said with such quiet possessiveness that sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. "I wanted to show you my office, the place I retreat to, when society becomes too much,"

Christine smiled, thinking of the other managers.

"Yes, I can see how that might happen…Erik…Monsieur Polletti…how did he come to be a member of the company?"

Erik turned to look at her.

"Why the sudden interest?" he asked.

"No reason…really…well…he makes me feel uncomfortable. It might help me to understand him a little better,"

He let out a terse laugh.

"You do not have to understand him, only perform with him," Erik sighed. "But since you ask. I first encountered him at a soiree I was obliged to attend with the other managers. It was a few days before I got the note from Madame Giry, as to that matter, you know the rest. Monsieur Polletti been employed by the lady of the house to sing for the guests. I must admit to being impressed by his vocal talents and so were the other financiers, which actually does not account for much,"

Christine flushed. "I suppose I have the fact that they can barely tell good singing from bad to thank for my current position,"

"You were not that terrible Christine. I think you know I would be honest enough with you about that. However if you are willing to put in the hard work we will have the cream of New York's society eating out of your hand,"

"I am sick to death of society, it has been my bane these past years," she sighed tiredly.

"Well my dear, look on them instead, as a necessary evil,"

Satisfied with Erik's answer, Christine swiftly dismissed the unease from her mind. They arrived at a pair of solid oak doors, the brass handles shone in the semi gloom of the hallway. Erik removed her hand from his arm to turn the doorknob. She screwed her eyes at the bright sunlight that flooded the room. The dust motes danced in the bright rays.

The room had a combined fragrance of French cognac and the lingering smell of cigars. She looked around at the two comfortable armchairs and a chaise longue. A cheery fire burned in the grate. To the other side there was a huge desk, piled with papers, but as she turned to look at Erik, what caught her attention were the hand drawn portraits that hung on the wall opposite it. The breath left her throat she looked on her likeness. The paper they were etched upon was yellowed, but the clarity of the strokes, created by hand that had drawn them remained.

Christine removed her gloves and walked over to them. Touching the cool glass frames with a fingertip. She felt Erik's closeness behind her, his warm breath on her neck.

"We all need our memories…I am not ashamed nor ever was of the depth of my feelings for the subject in these pictures,"

Christine turned, finding herself in his arms.

"It is I who should be ashamed," she whispered quietly, moved by the strength of his devotion.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, a brief touch on his lips. Erik smiled at her, his grey green eyes, which reminded her so much of winter, warmed with emotion. When he smiled at her, the smile reached his eyes. He left her side for a moment, walked over to the desk, and opened a drawer.

"I know it is not quite noon, but I feel the occasion calls for it," he said, his movements explaining his intentions, as he removed two large balloon brandy glasses from a cabinet and walked over to the Tantalus and unlocked it with the key he had taken from the desk.

He poured two generous measures of the amber liquid into the glasses and walked back over to her. Erik handed her a glass, and she bowed her head, contemplating the glass, absentmindedly swirling it around in her hands.

"What shall we drink to?" she asked, looking back up at him.

"To you. May your time here bring you the adulation you have so long deserved,"

"I can think of better things…to love and a life of happiness from this moment in…for both of us. That is as much of fortune as I dare tempt,"

Erik nodded in agreement, as they clinked glasses and each took a sip of the warming liquor.

* * *

**A week later**

New York was well into Spring now and the days were warm and balmy. However, it was nothing to the inner glow that Christine felt inside. Her lips were still slightly swollen and her body ached pleasantly from the passion she had shared with Erik only a couple of hours ago. He had awoken with gentle kisses that had soon flared into a deeper need for both of them.

As much as she wished they could have spent the day in bed, duty had called for the both of them. Erik had an opera house to run and today was the day that Mother Giry would be arriving. Christine knew how much Meg had missed her mother and wanted to be there with her to meet her off the boat.

So there they both stood on the quayside. Tom stood very close to them, only taking his eyes from the women to scan the crowds for trouble. Christine knew that he carried a revolver with him this time. He was taking no chances there would be a repeat performance of the last time they were here.

All three of them stood in companionable silence as they watched the ships dock. Finally, the one carrying Meg's mother came into port. She scanned the crowds that flocked the decks of the ship, all them hoping for first glances of loved ones.

Christine glanced at Meg. Her face was paper white. She was trembling, and Christine was sure it had nothing to do with the sharp breeze coming off the water. She took Meg's hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly.

Meg smiled up her at. "I am sorry for being such a coward; this place does not hold any happy memories for me,"

"Meg, coward is the last word I would ever associate with you. Soon there will be better remembrances to replace the old ones. You will presently be reunited with your mother,"

"I must admit I am looking forward to meeting the mother who spawned such an infant," said Tom, his cheeky grin taking any offence out of the words.

Meg turned to him and nudged him hard, in the ribs. He grunted in mock pain.

"That kind of talk Thomas Keane will earn you the severest punishments!" she replied.

"I am counting on it," came the saucy reply that earned him another blow.

Christine held back the smile at the couple's banter, wondering just how far their "relationship" had gone. She knew that Tom had sought to take her mind off things and it had worked. There were bright spots of colour on her face to replace her previous paleness. As the plinth was lowered and passengers began to disembark, Christine's own thoughts drifted off.

_Rehearsals at the opera house had been going well. Even her immediate dislike for Monsieur Polletti had mellowed and she had to admit that at times he could be charming. It made it so much easier to work with someone when you were not wasting energies holding him or her in distaste. She mused to herself._

Christine was brought back to the present, by the almost girlish squeal that Meg let out as she ran forward, spotting her mother in the crowd.

"Saints alive, will that girl ever learn!" grumbled Tom as he went in hot pursuit of her.

Christine followed at a more leisurely pace, wanting to allow Meg a little time with her mother before she greeted her. Tom respectfully stood back a few paces to allow her the same consideration.

She watched as the two Giry's embraced. Tears stung her eyes. Angelique had treated her like her own, but it did not stop her from wondering about the mother she had never known. She did not even have a picture of her, only the description her father had given her as a small girl when she had asked about her, and even that had faded with time.

Christine had never felt more alone than she did at that moment, wishing Erik was by her side. She knew it was selfish to want him with her all the time, as it was; she had had to request the morning off to come here. She smiled brightly as Madame Giry, extricated herself from her daughter's embrace and held out her arms to Christine. She returned the pressure, glancing at Meg, over her mother's shoulder. Meg put her finger to her lips to remind her friend of her promised silence. Meg introduced Tom to her mother, and after all greetings were exchanged, Madame Giry looked from one woman to the other, her gaze assessing.

"So, what has happened in our time apart?" she asked.

"Nothing!" chorused Christine and Meg, almost simultaneously. "Nothing," Meg repeated more firmly, blushing anew.

"Hmmm," Angelique replied.

Knowing the sharpness of Madame Giry's mind, Christine got the distinct impression that they were fooling no one.

"This way madam," gestured Tom, as he led them to the waiting carriage. "I have already made arrangements for your bags to be sent on to the house,"

* * *

Christine watched the carriage continue up the busy street, before entering the opera house. She nodded at the door attendant as she walked across the marbled floor. There was an excited buzz of conversation coming from the auditorium, which caught her attention. A small crowd had gathered near the front of the stage. Erik was sitting in one of the seats near the rear, his expression unfathomable, as he glanced at Christine.

He tried to catch her hand.

"Christine, wait!" There was a hard edge of urgency to his voice.

She ignored it and continued up the aisle. Some strange instinct propelled her forward as the crowd parted and Christine's hand covered her mouth to smother the gasp that rose to her lips. The entire colour drained out of her face as she met the cold hazel eyes of Carlotta Guidicelli. Christine felt a cold sweat of fear trickle down her spine, fear for Erik. Carlotta was the only one present who could unmask Erik, literally, for his past deeds.

The woman had hardly aged in the last thirteen years. There were lines around her mouth that had not been there before and she still favoured an auburn wig and too much pink. Christine glanced behind her to look at Erik. He was still sitting down in one of the auditorium seats, his expression bland.

Christine turned back to her former antagonist and took a couple of steadying breaths to swallow down the nausea, which threatened to take hold. Carlotta stepped forward, a smile on her lips told Christine that her reaction had not gone unnoticed. She extended a bright pink-gloved hand towards her.

"Miss Daae…what a pleasure to see you…again,"

TBC


End file.
